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Frontispiece 


Page 244 


The 


Living Mummy 

BY 

AMBROSE PRATT 

With Four Illustrations in Color by 
LOUIS D. FANCHER 



SECOND EDITION 


NEW YORK 

FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY^ 
PUBLISHERS 





( 


Copyright, 1910, by 
Frederick A. Stokes Company 


All rights reser<ved 


transferred FROl 
RFAOiRQ KOOtt 





I 


\ 


! 


i 

! 


THE LIVING MUMMY 



CHAPTEK 


CONTENTS 


I. Concerning the Son of Hap • 
II. A Patient of the Desert 

III. Two Lies 

IV* The Sarcophagus’s Perfume 


V. The Shadow in the Cave 

VI. Enter Doctor Belleville 

VII. The One Goddess . 

VIII. Ottley Shows His Hand 

IX. A Cool Defiance 

X. The Capture of the Coffin 

XI. Good-bye to the Nile 

XII. The Meeting . . 

XIII. Hubbard Is Jealous . 

XIV. The Pushful Man . 

XV. A Quaint Love Pact . 

^VI. Lady Helen Prescribes for 


Her 


Husband 

XVII. The Seance 

XVIII. The Unseen 

XIX. The First Victim 

XX. Lady Helen’s Medicine Operates 

XXI. Hubbard’s Philosophy of Life 

XXII. The Dead Hand ..... 


PAGE 

i 

* 13 

> 25 
29 
42 

53 

62 

75 

90 

96 

104 

III 

124 

131 

138 

145 

155 

173 

184 

193 

204 

211 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER PAGE 

XXIIL I Set Out for the East . . . 220 

XXIV. The Gin Is Sprung 226 

XXV. The Mummy Talks 238 

XXVI. A Pleasant Chat with a Murderer 246 

XXVII. Unbound 262 

XXVIII. The Struggle in the Chamber . 275 
XXIX. Saved by Fire ...... ,. 293 

XXX. The Last . ... ... .... . 30S 


THE LIVING MUMMY 


Chapter I 

Concerning the Son of Hap 

I WAS hard at work in my tent. I had almost 
completed translating the inscription of a small 
stele of Amen-hotep III, dated B. C., 1382, 
which with my own efforts I had discovered, and 
I was feeling wonderfully self-satisfied in conse- 
quence, when of a sudden I heard a great com- 
motion without. Almost immediately the tent flap 
was lifted, and Migdal Abu’s black face appeared. 
He looked vastly excited for an Arab, and he rolled 
his eyes horribly. ‘‘What do you want?” I de- 
manded irritably. “Did I not tell you I was not 
to be disturbed ? ” 

He bent almost double. “ Excellency — 2 l white 
sheik has come riding on an ass, and with him a 
shameless female, also white.” 

“ The dickens ! ” I exclaimed, for I had not seen 
a European for nine weeks. 

Migdal Abu advanced with hand outstretched. 
“ Excellency, he would have me give you this.” 

I took “ this,” and swore softly underbreath at 


2 THE LIVING MUMMY 

the humourless pomposity of my unknown country- 
man. It was a pasteboard carte-de-visite. And 
we— in the heart of the Libyan desert! 

With a laugh I looked at the thing and read 
his name— “ Sir Robert Ottley.’’ 

‘‘What!’’ I said, then sprang a-foot. Ottley 
the great Egyptologist. Ottley the famous ex- 
plorer. Ottley the eminent decipherer of cuneiform 
inscriptions. Ottley the millionaire whose prod- 
igality in the cause of learning had in ten short 
years more than doubled the common stock of 
knowledge of the history of the Shepherd kings 
of the Nile. I had been longing since a lad to 
meet him, and now he had come unasked to see 
me out on the burning sands of Yatibiri. 

Trembling with excitement, I caught up a jacket, 
and hardly waiting to thrust my arms into the 
sleeves, rushed out of the tent. 

Before me, sitting on an ass that was already 
sound asleep, despite a plague of flies that played 
about its eyes, was a little bronze-faced, grizzled 
old man attired from head to foot in glistening 
white duck and wearing on his head an enormous 
pith helmet. My Arabs, glad of an excuse to cease 
work, squatted round him in a semi-circle. 

“Sir Robert Ottley!” I cried. ‘‘A thousand 
welcomes.” 

“You are very good,” he drawled. ‘‘I pre- 
sume you are Dr. Pinsent.” 

** At your service.” 


CONCERNING THE SON OF HAP 3 


He stooped a little forward and offered me his 
hand. 

“ Will you not dismount? ” I asked. 

Thank you, no. I have come to ask a favour.” 
Then he glanced round him and began deliberately 
to count my Arabs. 

I surveyed him in blank astonishment. He pos- 
sessed a large hawk-like nose, a small thin-lipped 
mouth and little eyes twinkling under brows that 
beetled. 

“ Twelve, and two of them are good for nothing ; 
mere weeds,” said Sir Robert. 

Then he turned to me with a smile. ‘‘You 
will forgive me ? ” he asked, adding quickly, “ but 
then Arabs are cattle. There was no personal re- 
flection.” 

“ A cup of coffee,” I suggested. “ The sun is 
dreadful. It would refresh you.” 

“ The sun is nothing,” he replied, “ and I have 
work to do. I am camped on the southern slope 
of the Hill of Rakh. It is twelve miles. I have 
found the tomb for which I have been searching 
seven years. I thought I had enough Arabs. I 
was mistaken.” 

“ You may have the use of mine and welcome,” 
I observed. 

He gave a queer little bow. “He gives twice 
who gives quickly. The sarcophagus is in a rock 
hole forty feet beneath the level of the desert. I 
simply must have it up to-night.” 


4 THE LIVING MUMMY 

‘‘ They shall start at once, and I shall go with 
them; I am as strong as six,’’ I replied. Then I 
shouted some orders to Migdal Abu. When I 
turned it was to gasp. A woman had materialised 
from' the sunbeams. I had completely forgotten 
that Sir Robert had a female companion. All my 
eyes had been for him. I swung t)f¥ my hat and 
stammered some tardy words of welcome and in- 
vitation. 

Sir Robert interrupted me. “My daughter— 
Dr. Pinsent,” he drawled in slow, passionless tones. 

My daughter does not require any refreshment, 
thank you. Doctor.” 

“ I am too excited,” said a singularly sweet voice. 

Father’s discovery has put me into a fever. I 
really could not eat, and coffee would choke me. 
But if you could give me a little water.” 

I rushed into my tent and returned with a brim- 
ming metal cup. “ The Arabs have broken all my 
glass ware,” I said apologetically. 

She lifted her veil and our eyes met. She was 
lovely. She smiled and showed a set of dazzling 
teeth. The incisors were inlaid with gold. I re- 
marked the fact in a sort of self-defensive panic, 
for the truth is I am a shy idiot with pretty women. 
Thank goodneess she was thirsty and did not notice 
my confusion. Two minutes afterwards I was 
mounted on my donkey, and we were off on the 
long tramp to the Hill of Rakh, the Arabs trailing 
behind us in a thin ill-humoured line. We main- 


CONCERNING THE SON OF HAP 5 


tained the silence of bad temper and excessive heat 
until the sun sank into the sand. Then, however, 
we wiped our foreheads, said a cheerful good- 
bye to the flies that had been tormenting us, and 
woke up. 

“ I am immensely obliged to you. Dr. Pinsent,’’ 
said Sir Robert. 

‘‘ So am I,” said Miss Ottley. 

“ The boot is on the other foot,^’ I replied. “ It’s 
kind of you to permit me to be present at your 
triumph. Is it a king?” 

No,” said Miss Ottley, “ a priest of Amen of 
th€ eighteenth dynasty.” 

Oh, a priest.” 

Miss Ottley bridled at my tone. “ No king was 
ever half as interesting as our priest,” she de- 
clared. ‘‘ He was a wonderful man in every way, 
a prophet, a magician, and enormously powerful. 
Besides, he is believed to have committed suicide 
for the sake of principle, and he predicted his own 
resurrection after a sleep of two thousand years.” 

“He has been dead 3285 years,” sighed Sir 
Robert. 

“ Is that his fault ? ” cried the girl. 

“ It falsifies his prophecy.” 

She shrugged her shoulders. 

“ Ptahmes was his name,” said Sir Robert, turn- 
ing to me. ‘‘ He was the right-hand man of Amen- 
hotep IV ; but when that king changed his religion 
and his name and became Akhenaten and a devotee 


6 


THE LIVING MUMMY 


of the old worship of Heliopolis, Ptahmes appar- 
ently killed himself as a protest against the deposi- 
tion of Amen, his particular divinity.” 

‘‘ Read that,” said Miss Ottley. 

She handed me a page of type-written manu- 
script. 

It ran as follows : 

Hearken to the orders which are put upon you 
by Ptahmes, named Tahutimes, son of Mery, son of 
Hap. 

“All my ways were regulated even as the pace 
of an ibis. The Hawk-headed Horus was my pro- 
tector like amulets upon my body. I trained the 
troops of my lord. I made his pylon 6 o cubits long 
in the noble rock of quartzite, most great in height 
and firm as heaven. I did not imitate what had 
been done before. I was the royal scribe of the 
recruits. Mustering was done under me. I was 
appointed Judge of the Palace; overseer of all the 
prophets of the south and of the north. I was ap- 
pointed High Priest of Amen in the Capital — King 
of all the Gods. I was made the eyes and ears of 
the king: keeper of my lord’s heart and fan-bearer 
at the King’s right hand. Great men have come 
from afar to bow themselves before me, bringing 
presents of ivory and gold, copper, silver and emery, 
lazuli, malachite, green felspar and vases of mern 
wood inlaid with white precious stones some- 
times bearing gold at one time looo deben (200 
pounds weight). For my fame was carried abroad 


CONCERNING THE SON OF HAP 7 

even as the fame of the king, ‘lord of the sweet 
wind.’ And there was spoken of me by the son of 
Paapis that my wisdom was of a divine nature, 
because of my knowledge of futurities. Yet on the 
sixth day of the month of Pakhons in the i8th year 
I desire to rest. My lord, at the solicitation of the 
great royal wife and mother Nefertiti, has put off 
the worship of his predecessors. The name of 
Amen is proscribed from the country. Ra is pro- 
scribed from the country. Horus is proscribed 
from the country. Aten is set up in their place and 
worshipped in the land. My lord has even changed 
his name. Apiy is the high priest of the new God 
that is from the Mesopotamian wilderness. Amen, 
king of the Gods, dandled my lord and is forsaken 
and proscribed. I am an old man and would rest : 
although my lord has not forsaken me. He has 
appointed me overseer of all his works. Therefore, 
shall you carry me to the temple of Kak, and give 
my body to the hands of the priests of Amen who 
will wrap me in the linen sheets of Horus without 
removing my heart, my entrails or my lungs. Then 
you shall carry me to Khizebh and enclose me in the 
place prepared for me; and cover my tomb to a 
depth of five fathoms with the sand of the desert 
at that hour when no man looks or listens. Do this 
even as I command, and as royal scribe I trace the 
order with my pen. But you shall place my papyri 
and the sign by which I shall be known, and the 
stele of ivory engraved with the directions to the 


8 THE LIVING MUMMY 

priests of Amen who are to wake me from my sleep 
at the distant hour, in the tomb that is prepared for 
my body in the temple of Merenptah and in such 
manner that I shall there appear to sleep. And 
all these things you shall do, or my curse shall 
pursue you and your children and their children 
for the space of four hundred lives. Nor shall you 
remove the endowment of my gifts nor touch them 
where they lie under a penalty of great moment.” 

I strained my eyes to catch the last words, for 
the darkness was already setting down upon the 
desert ; and I was profundly interested. 

“ Wonderful ! ” I said, as I returned her the docu- 
ment. “A papyrus, of course?” 

“ Yes, one of several. Father found it seven 
years ago at Dier el Batiri.” 

‘‘ I had not heard.” 

Sir Robert coughed. “ No,” said he, “ nor any- 
one else. I have never published it. It did not 
come to me in the usual way. I bought it from an 
Arab who had rifled the tomb in which it was dis- 
covered.” 

“ And the other papyri and the ivory stele ? ” I 
questioned. 

‘‘They are in my possession, too.” 

“ They enabled you doubtless to locate the real 
tomb that holds the body ? ” 

“ They helped.” 

Then silence supervened. To me it was filled 
with wonder. I could not help asking myself what 


CONCERNING THE SON OF HAP 9 

circumstances could possibly have induced Ottley 
to withhold so valuable an historic treasure for so 
many years from the world. Such a course of ac- 
tion was utterly opposed to all practice, and the un- 
written but immutable laws of scientific research. 
It seemed strangely at odds, too, with the man’s re- 
puted character. It would have covered him with 
glory to have placed his discovery before the 
Society to which we both' belonged. And a dozen 
incidents related of him far and wide, proved that 
he was not indifferent to praise and fame. He read 
my thoughts probably, for at length he cleared his 
throat and spoke. 

“There were reasons why I should not blazon 
the find abroad,” he said. 

“No doubt,” I observed, with unintentioned dry- 
ness. 

“ One papyrus speaks of a golden treasure,” 
he went on quietly. ‘‘ If published, it would have 
set thousands looking for the tomb. In that case 
the chances are that the body of Ptahmes would 
have been destroyed by some vandal intent solely 
on pillage.” 

“You assumed a great responsibility,” I re- 
marked. I simply had to say it, for I was angry, 
and his explanation appeared puerile to me. 

“ Do you dispute my right ? ” he demanded 
coldly. 

I shrugged my shoulders. “ It is not for me to 
say. Sir Robert. Doubtless when the time comes you 


10 THE LIVING MUMMY 

will be able to satisfy the Society and the world that 
you have acted rightly.” 

‘‘I admit no responsibility,” he answered; “and 
permit me to observe that you are talking nonsense. 
I owe no duty to communicate the results of my 
purchases or discoveries to any Society or to the 
world.” 

“True, Sir Robert. An action for damages 
could not lie against you.” 

“Sir!” he cried. 

“Father,” said Miss Ottley, “how can Dr. 
Pinsent’s foolish sarcasm affect you? Besides, we 
need his Arabs.” 

“Quite so,” said Sir Robert. “We need his 
Arabs. How brightly the stars shine to-night. Dr. 
Pinsent.” 

The cool impudence of the pair struck me dumb. 
I shook with passion. For a moment I thought of 
callipg a halt and returning the way we had come 
to my own camp with my Arabs. But for my curi- 
osity to see the tomb of Ptahmes very probably I 
should have done so. In a few seconds, however, 
my rage cooled, and my uppermost feeling was ad- 
miration mixed with mirth. I had never been 
treated with such open and absurd contempt before. 
It was a refreshing experience. I burst of a sudden 
into a peal of laughter. Miss Ottley joined me in 
the exercise. But Sir Robert rode on like a hook- 
nosed sphinx. 

“ I knew I could not be mistaken,” said Miss Ott- 


CONCERNING THE SON OF HAP 11 


ley. “You should thank God for your sense of 
humour, Dr. Pinsent.’’ 

“ And who is benefiting from it at this moment, 
I should like to know?” I retorted. “The thanks 
are due from you, I fancy.” 

“ Deo gratias ! ” she flashed. “ In sober truth, 
we need your Arabs sadly.” 

“ I repeat, I am glad to be of use.” 

“We shall use you, but not necessarily in the 
cause of your Society. Understand that fully.” 

“You mean?” 

“ That you must not expect to share our secrets.” 

“In plain words, you will not let me help you 
open the sarcophagus.” 

“ Your penetration is remarkable.” 

« And if ” 

“ And if,” she interrupted quickly, “ you require 
a reward for the courtesy we asked and you ac- 
corded or have promised to accord, you have but 
to name a sum in cash to have it paid.” 

“ Or ” said I, stung to the quick. 

“Or,” she flashed, “return! You are at liberty 
to make your choice. Yours are not the only Arabs 
in Egypt. At a pinch we can wait a day or two. 
It is for you to say.” 

I tore off my hat. “Miss Ottley — my Arabs 
are yours for as long as you require them 1 ” I 
furiously announced. “ Good day to you. Sir 
Robert, good day ! ” 

Then I dragged the head of my ass round and set 


12 THE LIVING MUMMY 

his face to my camp. The beast, however, would 
hardly budge, and I had to belabour him unmerci- 
fully to induce him to trot. Never did man make 
a more undignified exit from circumstances of in- 
dignity. And it did not need Miss Ottley’s mock- 
ing laughter to assure me that I looked ridiculous. 
I could have strangled her with all the cheerfulness 
in life j and from that moment I have cherished an 
ineradicable hatred of donkeys. Sir Robert did not 
open his lips. He did not even return my angry 
salute. Almost choking with rage, I finally got out 
of range of Miss Ottley’s laughter. Then I dis- 
mounted and told the desert just what I thought of 
her and her father. It was almost midnight when 
I reached my camp, for, to crown all, I neglected 
the stars in my passion, and for two hours lost my 
way. 


Chapter II 

A Patient of the Desert 

I SPENT the next two days in absolute solitude, 
and got through a tremendous quantity of toil. 
In fact, I added two whole chapters to my 
treatise on the Nile monuments and I arranged the 
details of a third. By the end of that time, however, 
I was ravenously hungry. I had been too engrossed 
in labour to think of eating anything but biscuits. 
And appetite at last turned me out of the tent. I 
looked around for my Arabs and saw sand and 
sky — no living thing — oh, yes, there was my don- 
key. The little beast had eaten his way through a 
truss of straw, and was asleep. Strolling over to the 
ruined pylon, I glanced down into the hole my 
Arabs had excavated. It was empty. “ Gad ! I 
exclaimed. They must still be working for 
Ottley.” I had to build a fire and turn cook, willy 
nilly. Later, fortified with the pleasant conviction 
of a good dinner, I turned my telescope on the Hill 
of Rakh. An Arab stood on the treeless summit 
leaning on a rifle whose barrel glittered in the sun- 
light. I was puzzled. He was manifestly posted 
there as sentinel, but why? I watched him till 
dark, but he did not move. That night I shot a 
13 


14 


THE LIVING MUMMY 


jackal — omen of disaster. It was long before I 
slept. Yet I seemed only to have slumbered a 
moment or two when I awoke. A voice called my 
name aloud. ‘‘Dr. Pinsent! Dr. Pinsent!” I 
started upright and listened, nerves on edge. 

“ Dr. Pinsent ! ” 

“ Who calls ? I shouted. 

“ I—May Ottley.’’ 

“ Miss Ottley ! ’’ I hopped out of my bag bed like 
a cricket. “ Just a moment.” I struck a light and, 
grabbing at my clothes, proceeded to dress like mad. 
Thus for thirty seconds; then I remembered how I 
had been treated, and went slower. Then I thought 
— Pinsent, youTe a cad—she’s a woman, and per- 
haps in trouble.” So I got up steam again and 
called out, “Nothing wrong, I hope?” 

Yes, said Miss Ottley. Well, here was a 
woman of business, at any rate. She seemed to 
know the use of words, and valued them accord- 
ingly. Waste not, want not. I drew on my jacket 
and lifted the flap. An Arab rustled past me. 

Hello!’ said I. “Not so fast, my man.” 

But it was Miss Ottley. I stepped back, be- 
wildered. Her hair was tucked away in a sort of 
turban, and she was wrapped from head to heel in 
a burnous that had once been white — very long 
ago. But the costume, though dirty, was becoming. 
She sank upon a camp stool and asked at once for 
water. She seemed very tired. My bag was 
empty. I hurried off without a word to the barrel 


A PATIENT OF THE DESERT 15 

in the temple. When I returned she was asleep 
where she sat. I touched her shoulder and she 
started up, suppressing a scream. ‘‘ Now,” said I, 
as she put down the cup. Miss Ottley stood up. 
“ A bad thing has happened,” she began. “ The 
sarcophagus was filled with treasure, gold and silver 
in bars, and other things. The Arabs went mad. 
My father fought like a paladin and held them off 
for a day and a half. But soon after dark this 
evening a caravan arrived. The fight was renewed 
and my father was wounded. The Arabs secured 
the treasure and fled into the desert. The drago- 
man only kept faith with us. He has gone by the 
river to Khonsu for troops. I hurried here for you. 
I ran almost all the way. Will you come? Father 
is very ill. He has lost a lot of blood. He was shot 
in the shoulder.” 

I nodded, caught up my revolver and surgical pack 
and rushed out of the tent. In two minutes I had 
saddled the donkey. Miss Ottley was standing by 
the door of the tent. I lifted her on the beast and 
we started off in silence. An hour later she spoke. 

‘‘ There is one thing I like about you,” she an- 
nounced. ‘‘You haven’t much to say for yourself, 
but you are a worker.” 

“ Tu quoque,” I replied. “ You must have done 
that twelve miles in record time. It is not yet two 
o’clock.” 

“ I made it in two hours, I think.” 

“You are an athlete, by Jove!” 


10 THE LIVING MUMMY 

I am no bread-and-butter miss, at any rate. This 
donkey has a bad pace, don’t you think ? ” 

I kicked the brute into a trot and ran beside it. 
The Hill of Rakh soon began to loom large among 
the stars on the horizon. “I suppose you were 
pretty wild at our cavalier treatment of you the 
other evening,” said Miss Ottley. 

“Well, yes,” I admitted. 

“ We were sorry when the fight came.” 

“ No doubt,” said I. 

“ It served us right, eh ? ” 

“ That is my opinion.” 

“ Do you bear malice still ? ” 

“ I am thinking of your father’s wound.” 

“ That atones ? ” 

“ Your twelve-mile run helps.” 

“ But you are still angry with us ? ” 

“ Does it matter? I am serving you.” 

“Be generous,” said Miss Ottley. “We have 
been sufficiently punished. Not only have we lost 
the treasure, but there was no mummy in the sar- 
cophagus. 

“ Be a lady and apologise,” I retorted. 

“ No,” said she, with a most spirited inflection. 
“ It is not a woman’s place.” 

“ Then be silent or change the topic,” I growled. 
She was silent. We arrived an hour later at 
the mountain. I was bathed in perspiration and 
as tired as a dog. But Miss Ottley had no 
time to notice my condition. She slipped off the 


A PATIENT OF THE DESERT 17 

donkey and hurried away through the smaller of 
the three pylons that fronted a small temple hol- 
lowed out of the rock face of the hill. There was 
no sign of tent, so I concluded that Sir Robert had 
made his camp within the temple. I hitched the 
ass to a stake and cooled off, thanking Providence 
for a cool breeze that swept up from the placid sur- 
face of the Nile. Day was already showing signs 
of breaking, and a broad flight of long-legged 
flamingoes hurried its coming with a flash of scar- 
let just above the eastern horizon. The distant 
howling of a hyena was borne to me in fitful snatches 
on the wind. The earth was wrapped in mystery 
and melancholy. Oh, Egypt! Egypt, land of sun-lit 
spaces and illimitable shadows; of grandeur and 
of squalor without peer; of happy dreams and sad 
awakenings; of centuries ingloriously oblivious of 
glory ; of sleep and sphinx-browed, age-bound 
silences; of darkly smiling and impotent despair. 
What a mistress for a man of curiosity and of 
imagination! Little wonder that since I had been 
caught in her magic and most jealous spell the 
face of no human being had possessed the power to 
threaten her supremacy or cancel my allegiance to 
the mystic desert queen. 

‘‘Dr. Pinsent!’’ 

I awoke from my reverie with a start. “This 
way,’’ said Miss Ottley. I bowed and followed her 
into the temple, through a broad but low stone door- 
way, past a row of broken granite columns. A 


18 


THE LIVING MUMMY 


light within showed us the path. The chamber 
was about eighteen feet square; there was another 
of equal size beyond it, in the heart of the hill. An 
immense sarcophagus composed entirely of lead 
almost blocked the door. The lid, carved to repre- 
sent the figure and face of a tall grave-featured 
man, was propped up on end against a pillar. The 
sarcophagus was empty. Beyond stood a trestle 
cot, a table and a lamp. Sir Robert Ottley lay upon 
the cot. He was awake, but evidently unconscious, 
and in a high fever. I examined his wound and 
prepared for action. There was an oil stove in the 
room. I lighted it and set water to boil. Miss 
Ottley watched me with an expression I shall not 
forget easily. Her face was as wan as that of a 
ghost; and her big red-brown eyes glowed like 
coals, and were ringed with purple hollows. She 
was manifestly worn out and on the verge of a 
breakdown. But although I begged her to retire, 
she curtly refused. Judging by her eyes, she was 
my enemy, and a critical enemy at that. When 
everything was ready I walked over to her, picked 
her up in my arms and carried her struggling like 
a wildcat to the door. Then I put her out and 
blocked the entrance with the lid of the sarcopha- 
gus. She panted — “ I hate you,” from behind it. 
Then she began to cry. I said nothing. It seemed 
one of those occasions wherein silence was golden. 
I tied Sir Robert to the cot and set to work. Half 
an hour later I found the bullet under his clavicle. 


A PATIENT OF THE DESERT 19 

and then dressed the. wound and bound him up. He 
came out of the influence of the anaesthetic in his 
sober senses; but he was so eager to tell me all his 
disappointment that I gave him a hypodermic dose 
of morphia, and he dropped asleep in the middle of 
a rabid diatribe against Arabs in general and our 
Arabs in particular. 

I found Miss Ottley reclining against a ruined 
pillar in an angle of the pylon. She had cried her- 
self to sleep and was breathing like a child. I 
slipped out and found the Arab’s store-house and 
kitchen. Luckily the gold had exhausted their 
cupidity. The stores were untouched. I lighted a 
fire and prepared a meal — coffee and curry for 
Miss Ottley and myself ; beef tea and arrowroot for 
the invalid. By that time the sun was riding high 
in the heavens, but Miss Ottley still slept. Willing 
to assist her rest I secured a cushion from the cham- 
ber and pushed it gently beneath her head. She 
sighed and turned over, allowing me to see her face. 
I examined it and found it good. The features 
were well-nigh perfect, from the little Grecian nose 
to the round chin. But it was a face instinct with 
pride, the pride of a female Lucifer. And her form 
was in keeping. ‘‘ God save her husband,” was my 
conclusion. And I ate a hearty breakfast, watching 
her and pitying him, whoever he should be. 

Sir Robert woke about noon, and although a lit- 
tle feverish, I was quite satisfied with his progress. 
After eating a dish of what he feelingly described 


20 


THE LIVING MUMMY, 

as “muck ’’ he went to sleep again. I prepared a 
second meal and brought it on a box to where Miss 
Ottley still lay sleeping. Then I sat down and 
coughed. Her eyes opened at once and she looked 
at m^. It is marvellous what a woman’s glance 
can do. I became instantly conscious of a dirty 
face, unkempt hair, and a nine-weeks’ growth of 
beard. In order to conceal my appreciation of my 
ugliness I grinned. 

“Ugh! ” murmured Miss Ottley, and she got up. 

“ Sir Robert is asleep,” I observed. “ I found the 
bullet. He has had lunch and is going on nicely. 
You had better eat something.” 

She gave me a glance of scorn and glided into 
the temple. I helped her to a plate of curry, poured 
out a cup of coffee and made myself scarce. Re- 
turning a quarter of an hour later, I found the plate 
bare, the cup empty and not a crumb left on the 
box. I took the things away and washed them, and 
my own face. Then I shaved with a pocket ampu- 
tation knife, using for mirror a pot of soapy water; 
and I brushed my too abundant locks into some- 
thing like order with a bunch of stubble which I 
converted into a hair brush with a tomahawk and a 
piece of twine. Feeling prodigiously civilised and 
almost respectable, I strolled back to the pylon, sat 
down on Miss Ottley’s cushion, and lighted my 
pipe. 

About two minutes later Miss Ottley appeared. 

“ Patient awake ? ” I asked. 


A PATIENT OF THE DESERT 21 

“ No,” said Miss Ottley. “ What an objection- 
able smell of tobacco ! ” 

War to the knife evidently. I stood np. When 
you need me shout,” I remarked, and strolled off, 
puffing- stolidly. But I saw her face as I turned, 
and it was crimson, perhaps with surprise that I 
could be as rude as she, perhaps with mortification 
that I had dared. If ever a g’irl needed a dressing 
down it was she who stood in the pylon staring 
after me. I squatted in the shadow of a rock and 
spent the afternoon stupefying over-friendly flies 
with the fumes of prime Turkish. She shouted 
just before sundown. Her father was delirious, 
she said. I found him raving and tearing at his 
bandages. He was haunted with an hallucination 
of phantom cats. The whole cavern, he declared, 
was filled with cats; black as Erebus with flaming 
yellow eyes. I shooed them away and after some 
trouble calmed the poor old man. But it was going 
to be a bad case, that was plain. Luckily the cave 
temple was, comparatively speaking, cool. I spent 
the evening disinfecting every cranny, and quietly 
dispersing the suspicious dust of vanished centuries. 
When I had finished it smelt carbolically whole- 
some and was as clean as a London hospital, even 
to the ceiling. Miss Ottley sat all the while by her 
father’s cot, and occasionally sneezed to relieve her 
feelings. I had very little sympathy for her dis- 
tress. I said to her, ‘‘ You will take first watch, 
I’ll sleep in the pylon. Call me at midnight.” 


22 


THE LIVING MUMMY 


Then I placed my watch on the edge of the sar- 
cophagus and went out. She said nothing. I woke at 
dawn. She was sitting like a statue beside her 
father’s bedside. Her face was grey. Sir Robert 
was asleep, but breathing stertorously. I beckoned 
her out to the pylon. “ See here, Miss Ottley, ’ I 
said, in a cold rage, ‘‘ I’m not going to beat about 
the bush with you. I told you to call me at mid- 
night. Kindly explain your disobedience.” 

“I am not your servant to obey your orders,” 
she retorted icily. 

‘‘ No,” said I, “ you prefer to serve your own 
prickly pride to behaving sensibly. But let me tell 
you this — ^your father’s life depends on careful 
nursing. And that is impossible unless we appor- 
tion the work properly between us. You’ll be fit 
for nothing today, and my task will be doubled in 
consequence. A little more of such folly and you’ll 
break down altogether. You are strung up to more 
than concert pitch. As for me — I am not a ma- 
chine, and though I am prepared to do my best 
out of mere humanity, I don’t pretend to do the im- 
possible. Nor shall I answer for your father’s life 
if you force me to nurse two patients single- 
handed.” 

She looked me straight in the eye. ‘‘Very well, 
sir, I shall henceforth rigidly obey you.” 

“You must,” I said and strode into the open. 
When I had prepared breakfast, she did not want 
to eat. But I had only to frown and she succumbed. 


A PATIENT OF THE DESERT 23 

Afterwards I made her lie down, and she slept 
through Sir Robert’s groaning. It was a hideous 
day. The patient grew steadily worse, and so great 
was his strength, despite his diminutive size, that 
our struggles wore me out at last and I was obliged 
to strap him down. By nightfall he was a maniac, 
and his yells could be heard, I make no doubt, a 
mile around. And the worst of it was that my 
stock of bromide was gone. I had to dose him 
with morphia. But I had not to speak to Miss 
Ottley again. She woke me out of a delicious sleep 
at a quarter to the hour. She was quite composed, 
but as pale as a sheet. 

‘‘ My father is going to die, I think,” she whis- 
pered. 

I went in and looked at him. He was straining 
like a tiger at his bonds. “ Not to-night, at any 
rate,” I observed. ‘‘ He has the strength of six. 
You go straight to bed ! ” 

She went off as meek as any lamb, and I began 
to talk to Sir Robert. Our conversation was some- 
what entertaining. He was Ixion chained to the 
wheel. I was Sisyphus with a day off duty. We 
commiserated one another on our penalties, and bit- 
terly assailed King Pluto’s unsympathetic govern- 
ment. Finally we conspired to dethrone him and 
give the crown of Hades to Proserpine, whose 
putatively tender heart might be reckoned on 
occasionally to mitigate the anguish of our punish- 
ment. He fell into a fitful doze at last with his 


24 


THE LIVING MUMMY 


hand in mine, but he soon awoke, and with a yell 
announced the return of the imaginary plague of 
cats. On the whole, the night was worse than the 
day. And morning was no blessing. Sir Robert 
had shed five and forty years. He was once again 
at college, and if his unwilling confessions are to 
be relied upon, and his language, he must have been 
a precious handful for his masters. But now he 
steadily lost strength, and the flame of fever ate him 
up before our eyes. As the shadows lengthened 
into afternoon I began to look for the crisis. 


Chapter III 
Two Lies 

S LEEP was not to be dreamed of that night 
for either of us well people. I had thought 
of a plan. Leaving Miss Ottley to watch the 
unconscious but ceaselessly babbling patient, I 
scoured out the sarcophagus, and then built an 
enormous fire before the pylon. Over this I hung 
the Arab’s cauldron. By nightfall I had the sar- 
cophagus nigh abrim with hot water. It formed 
a huge but most admirable bath. It was a heroic 
experiment to make ; but the dark angel was in the 
cavern and I had little chance left. Kill or cure. 
It seemed a toss of the coin either way, for Sir 
Robert was dying fast. After the bath he slipped 
into a state of blank insensibility. Miss Ottley 
thought him asleep, and she took heart to hope. I 
did not deceive her. For four hours I waited, my 
finger continually on his pulse. It grew contin- 
ually weaker. I administered nitro-glycerine every 
half hour, but at length even that spur failed. 

‘‘ Miss Ottley,” said I, “ you must prepare for 
the worst.” 

She showed me a face of more than mortal cour- 
age. Pride is not always amiss in characters like 

25 


26 


THE LIVING MUMMY 


hers. “ I have felt it all along,” she said quietly. 
‘‘Will he regain his senses?” 

“Yes. At least I think he will — before the 
end.” 

“ Is there no hope ? ” 

“ None — unless he can be miraculously aroused. 
Pardon me — is he very much attached to you ? ” 

“ No — his heart and soul are wrapped up in 
his work. He died, to all intents and purposes, 
the hour he was shot. His terrible disappoint- 
ment had deprived him of his best support.” 

“ The robbery, you mean ? ” 

“ No — the knowledge of his failure. He made 
certain of finding the body of Ptahmes.” 

“ Ah ! ” said I — and gave myself to thought. 
When I looked up next Miss Ottley was gazing at 
her father with a marble countenance, but tears 
were streaming from her eyes. 

“You love him,” I whispered. 

“ More than all the world,” she answered simply. 
Her voice rang as true and unbroken as the chiming 
of a bell. I began in spite of myself to admire 
Miss Ottley. 

Ten minutes passed; minutes of hideously op- 
pressive silence. Then, without warning. Sir Rob- 
ert’s eyelids flickered and opened. There was the 
light of reason in them. I bent over him and his 
glance encountered mine. I pressed his hand and 
said in brisk, cheerful tones, “You must hurry up 
and get well, Sir Robert, or I shall not be able to re- 


TWO LIES 27 

strain my curiosity. This Ptahmes of yours is the 
most extraordinary mummy I have ever seen; and 
I am simply dying to take him from his shroud.” 

The dim eyes of the dying man actually glowed. 
His fingers clutched at my wrist, and with a super- 
human effort he gasped forth, ‘‘No — No.” 

Be easy,” I returned, “ I’ll not touch him till 
you are well. But you must hurry. Remember 
we are of a trade, you and 1.” 

He smiled and very slowly his eyes closed. His 
breathing was absolutely imperceptible; but his 
pulse, though faint, was regular. I made sure and 
then put down his hand. 

‘‘ He is dead,” said Miss Ottley, and her voice 
thrilled me to the core. 

‘‘ No,” said I, “ he is sleeping like a babe. The 
crisis is over. He will live.” 

“ Oh ! my God ! ” she cried, and fell on her knees 
beside the bed shaken with a storm of sobbing. 

I sneaked out of the temple and smoked my first 
pipe in three days. I was only half through it 
when I felt her at my side. 

‘"No, please continue smoking,” she said, “I 
like it, really. I have come to try and thank you.” 

“ You can’t,” I replied ; “ I’m not a man to over- 
estimate his own services, but this is the sort of thing 
that cannot be repaid by either gold or words.” 

“ Oh ! ” she said. 

“ You see,” I went on, “ I lied. It was to save 
his life — for your sake. The sight of your dis- 


28 


THE LIVING MUMMY 


tress touched me. I am glad that he will live, of 
course. Glad to have served you. But the fact 
remains, I am a liar.” 

“ Dr. Pinsent ! ” she cried. 

“Oh, I daresay I’ll grow used to it,” I in- 
terrupted cheerfully. “ Perhaps I have only shed 
a superstition, after all. I confess to an unwonted 
feeling of freedom, too. Undoubtedly I was shac- 
kled, in a sense. Yet a convict chained for years 
feels naked, I am told, when he gets, suddenly, his 
liberty. I can easily believe it. My own exper- 
ience — ^but enough; we leave the patient too long 
alone.” 

She flitted off like a phantom and as noiselessly. 
I refilled my pipe. An hour later I found them both 
asleep, she seated on the camp-stool leaning back 
against the tomb. Nature had been too strong 
for her, poor girl. I felt towards her the brother- 
hood of vice. She, too, had lied — in pretending a 
little while before — a hatred of tobacco. 

I took her quietly and gently in my arms and 
carried her to her own cot in the inner cabin. She 
did not wake. 


Chapter IV 

The Sarcophagus’s Perfume 


T owards morning my mind grew much 
easier. Sir Robert awoke and took a 
few mouthfuls of liquid nourishment. 
But although too weak to speak, he was sensible 
and the fever had left him. He feel asleep again 
immediately. Soon afterwards my eyes fell on the 
sarcophagus. Its great size affected me with 
wonder — and its construction. Why should im- 
perishable treasures, gold, silver, and precious 
stones be enclosed in lead? Why not in stone? 
And the sarcophagus had been hermetically sealed 
too, witness the chisel and saw marks on the lid, 
of Ottley’s making. I examined them attentively, 
then sat down and stared at the sarcophagus again. 
It was coffin shaped. Why? If it had been in- 
tended for a mere treasure chest surely — I was 
struck suddenly by a fact and a remembrance. The 
sarcophagus manifestly measured four feet high 
at least. And I remembered that in filling it 
with water for Sir Robert’s bath I had only had 
to fill eighteen inches in depth. What if under- 
neath the treasure it contained another chamber 
overlaid with lead? There was room. I got 


30 


THE LIVING MUMMY 


afoot and measured the depth of water on my arm. 
Eighteen, well, certainly not more than nineteen 
inches. I seized a bucket and began to bail the 
water out, having need to be noiseless for the sleep- 
ers’ sake. The task occupied the better part of half 
an hour. By then morning had begun to pale 
the lamplight, and I was weary. But I kept on, and 
finally mopped the interior of the huge basin dry 
with a towel. Thereupon I examined the bottom 
with the lamp. It did not show a single crevice. 
The lead was in a solid and impervious sheet. 
Curious. But the difference between the eighteen 
inches and the four feet remained to be accounted 
for. Was the interspace filled with lead? If so — why 
such uneconomic expenditure of a valuable mineral ? 
The mystery interested me so much that my weari- 
ness was forgotten. I felt that at any cost it must 
be solved forthwith. Casting about, I found a fine- 
pointed and razor-sharp chisel in the drawer of Sir 
Robert Ottley’s camp table. With this, I set to 
work. Climbing into the sarcophagus, I selected 
a spot, and using the weight of my body in place 
of a hammer, I forced the chisel into the lead. It 
bit into the metal slowly but surely. One inch. 
One inch and a half. Suddenly it slipped. I fell 
forward and was brought up by the handle. The 
mystery was solved. I recovered my position and 
wiped my forehead. Instantly a thin but strangely 
overpowering perfume filled my nostrils. It re- 
sembled camphor, and violets, and lavender, and 


SARCOPHAGUS’S PERFUME 31 


oil of almonds, and a hundred other scents, but was 
truly like none of them. It created and compelled, 
however, a confused train of untranslatable reflec- 
tions which might have been memories. But God 
knows what they were. I experienced a mysterious 
sensation of immeasurable antiquity. And wildly 
absurd as the idea appears set forth in sober lan- 
guage, something assured me that I was thousands 
of years old or had lived before — so long — so very 
long ago. I saw lights — ^the sound of chanting 
voices and of rushing waters filled my ears. I 
seemed to be assisting at a solemn ritual. Ghostly 
forces and dim spirit figures filled the cave. The 
air was thick with incense fumes. My reason 
rocked and swung. Just in time I realised that I 
was becoming mysteriously anaesthetised. I held my 
breath and with a powerful effort leaped to the floor. 
Then I carefully blocked up the chisel hole with 
my kerchief and staggered into the open air. Very 
soon I was my own man again. Returning filled 
with apprehension for the patient, I found nothing 
to alarm me. The perfume had absolutely disap- 
peared. Sir Robert was sleeping like a babe. I 
took a nip of brandy and. sitting down, gave my- 
self to dreams watching the sarcophagus. ,What 
was its secret ? And what the secret of Sir Robert 
Ottley’s passionate interest in the corpse of Ptahmes 
that had been potent enough to call him back to 
life from the very brink of dissolution ? But plainly 
I must wait to learn. For it would not do to trifle 


32 THE LIVING MUMMY 

with the perfume in the cavern. In that confined 
space it might bring about the destruction of us 
all. Already it had affected me. My head ached 
fearfully, and I knew that my blood vessels were 
distended, and that my heart was still violently 
excited. My agitation was not all painful. There 
was an insidious pleasure mingled with it, an in- 
tangible titillation of the nerves; but that only 
alarmed me the more. The poisons that are most 
to be feared are those which captivate the senses; 
they convey no warning to the body, and betray 
the mind, however watchful, by effecting a paraly- 
sis of will. Perhaps — unwittingly — I had been 
very near death. The notion was disturbing. I 
began to regard the sarcophagus much in the light 
of an infernal machine possessing dangerous poten- 
tialities for ill. I determined as soon as possible — 
that is to say, as soon as help arrived — to have it 
removed from the sick room to the pylon. There 
at least it would be less manifestly perilous ; having 
the play of the whole wide desert atmosphere in 
which to dissipate its noxious energies. 

A rustling sound dissolved my meditations. I 
glanced up and saw Miss Ottley bending over her 
father. I slipped out and sought the Arab’s quar- 
ters. Soon I had a good fire alight and water on 
to boil. I rather spread myself that morning. I 
cooked some tinned asparagus, boiled a tinned 
chicken, and opened a jar of prunes. Breakfast 
spread on the lid of a brandy box looked and smelled 


SARCOPHAGUS’S PERFUME 33 

very good. I carried it up to the pylon and whistled 
“ Come into the garden, Maude.” 

Miss Ottley appeared at once, round eyed with 
surprise. 

“Your father has already eaten,” I observed. 
“ In all likelihood he will sleep for hours yet. Kindly 
sit down. You’ll excuse my novel breakfast call. 
It is the only invitational air I am acquainted 
with.” 

She stared at me. 

“ May one not be light-hearted when all goes 
well ? ” I asked. 

“ One may,” she answered. Then her eyes fell 
and she coloured painfully. ‘‘ But not two. I slept 
at my post. Oh ! how could I ? ” Her voice was 
quite despairing and bitterly contemptuous. 

I bit at the leg of a chicken which I held in my 
fingers. “ After all, you are a woman, you know,” 
I commented, with my mouth full. “This chick’s 
prime — done to a turn.” 

“ How tired you must be ! ” 

“ I’m not complaining. Nor do I grudge you 
the extra rest. You look better. Hungry? ” 

“Y-yes,” she admitted. 

“ Then don’t be a ninny spending time in vain 
regrets. Fall to and repair your waste tissues. In 
plain English — eat.” 

She sat down on a ruined column and I handed 
her a plate. 

“ You look — ^positively merry! ” she said. “ You 


34 THE LIVING MUMMY 

are nursing” some — pleasant — or profitable reflec- 
tion.” She considered the words with care. 

“I have discovered that I may have — told the 
truth to your father last night after all. By acci- 
dent.” 

‘‘ I beg your pardon.” 

“I believe I have found your friend Ptahmes, 
Miss Ottley.” 

The plate slid oif her lap and broke. Chicken 
and gravy littered the pavement. But she had no 
idea of it. “ Impossible ! ” she cried. 

I explained my examination of the sarcophagus 
and the result in detail. She sat gazing at me like 
a graven image. When she had finished she arose 
and vanished — ^without a word. I followed and found 
her standing beside the great lead coiffin, my ker- 
chief in her hand. She had reopened the chisel 
hole, and the cavern was already saturated with 
the infernal gas. I snatched my handkerchief 
away and once more blocked the vent. Then I ex- 
erted all my strength and with a prodigious effort 
placed the lid on the sarcophagus. With a woman’s 
curiosity to reckon with, such a precaution seemed 
a vital safeguard, I found her standing in the pylon, 
breathing like a spent runner. 

“ You might have taken my word,” I said coldly. 
“ You’d have saved yourself an ugly headache at 
the least.” 

Her face was crimson ; her eyes burned like stars. 
The fumes of that uncanny perfume had made her 


SARCOPHAGUS’S PERFUME 35 

drunk. She swayed and leaned dizzily against a 
pillar. I went up and took her hand. The pulse 
was beating like a miniature steam hammer. 

‘‘ Sit down,” I said. 

She laughed and sank at my feet in a heap. ‘‘ Oh ! 
Oh ! she cried and fell to sobbing half hysterically 
though tearlessly. 

‘‘ Lord ! ” I said aloud. “ What a bundle of hys- 
terical humours it is, and how plain to look on when 
its resolution takes a holiday.” 

That is the way to treat hysteria. 

Miss Ottley sat up and withered me with a glance. 
** I I It — it's not hysteria,” she stammered, 

between gasps. “ Besides— you— confessed— it— 
overcame — you, too.” 

Then she fainted. I sprang up, but even as I 
moved I heard a loud sigh in. the cavern. “The 
sick man first,” I muttered, and let the girl lie. But 
at the door of the cavern chamber I stood trans- 
fixed. A dark shape bent over the patient's cot, 
hiding Sir Robert Ottley's face from view. It 
seemed to be a man, but its back was presented to 
my gaze. “ What the deuce are you doing here, 
whoever you are?” I cried out, and started for- 
ward. The shape melted on the instant into thin- 
nest air. “ Nothing but a shadow,” I said to my- 
self. It was necessary to say something. I was 
shocked to my soul. I stood for a moment shaking 
and dismayed. The shadow had been so thick and 
bodily and had fled so like a spirit that I had work 


36 


THE LIVING MUMMV 


to do to readjust my scattered faculties. Of course 
a shadow — and my eyes, dazzled by the sunlight 
without, had momentarily failed to pierce it. A 
reasonable and quite ample scientific explanation. 
But what had cast the shadow? Pish — ^what but 
myself? And yet: and yet: I was shivering like 
a blancmange. Never had my nerves used me so 
ill. Perhaps, however, that accursed perfume had 
affected them. Ah! there was a reassuring solu- 
tion of the puzzle. Reassuring to my reason, be 
it understood, for the fleshy part of me was taken 
with an ague and refused for many seconds to re- 
turn to its subjection to my will. Sometimes now 
I doubt but that the flesh has an intelligence apart 
from the brain cells and nerve structures that usually 
control it. Indeed, I have never met a man of 
intellect whose memory does not register experience 
of some occasion in which his flesh took independ- 
ent fright — like a startled hare — ^at some bogie 
which made his sober reason subsequently smile; 
nay, contemptuously at times. Well, well,” I 
said at length and pushed forward — ^to receive an- 
other shock. Sir Robert Ottley was almost nude. The 
bed clothes had been pushed down past his waist. 
His fingers convulsively gripped the paillasse. His 
face was livid. His eyes were open and upturned. 
His whole form was stiff and rigid. A fit? It 
seemed so. His pulse was still. He did not 
breathe. But a cataleptic fit then, for at a lance 
prick the blood flowed. I forced him to his right 


SARCOPHAGUS’S PERFUME 37 

side and tried massage. No use. Strychnine and 
nitro-glycerine equally refused to act. Finally I 
saturated a cloth with amyl nitrate, placed it over 
his open mouth and tried artificial respiration. A 
whole hour had passed already, but I refused to 
give in. It was well. In another twenty minutes 
my efforts were rewarded with a sigh. I kept on 
and the man began to breathe. When it seemed 
safe to leave off, I disposed him easily and watched 
events. First his normal colouring returned. Then 
his mouth closed. Finally his eyes revolved. The 
lids closed and opened several times, then rested 
closed. His pulse beat feverishly, but in spite of 
that he slept. I walked to the door. Miss Ottley 
— whom I had completely forgotten — still lay in- 
sensible where she had fallen. I picked her up and 
brought her into the cavern. She awoke to con- 
sciousness in transit. I forced her to drink a stiff 
nobbier of brandy, and very soon she was in her 
old, cold, bright, proud, self-reliant state — armed 
cap-a-pie with insolence and egotism. 

“Is your father subject to fits?” I asked. 

“ He has never had, till this, a day's illness in his 
life,” she responded — with a touch of indignation. 

I nodded. “ Well, his period of disease indemnity 
has passed. While you swooned he had a fit. I 
use the expression colloquially. You would prob- 
ably have so described his condition had you seen 
him. As for me I don't know. The symptoms 
were unique. I restored him by treating him as 


38 


THE LIVING MUMMY 


a drowned man. He was in a sort of trance. From 
this moment he must never be left, even for a 
second.” 

“ He was insensible ? ” 

“ He was inanimate.” 

“ That perfume I ” she cried. 

I shrugged my shoulders. “No doubt.” 

We glanced at the sarcophagus, then at each 
other. 

“ Was there need ? ” she asked, colouring. Then 
her eyes sparkled. “ Oh, for such strength ! ” she 
cried. “ It took six Arabs to lift that coffin lid. 
You must be a Samson.” 

“ Fortunately,” I observed. 

Her brows drew together and her lips. “You 
treat me in a way that I resent,” she said. “ I am 
as reasonable a being as yourself.” 

I retired to a corner and stretched myself upon 
the floor without replying. 

“ When do you wish to be aroused? ” she asked. 

“ An hour before sunset. We must eat — that is 
I. You appear to thrive on air.” 

She bit her lips and I stared at the ceiling. I was 
dog-tired, but could not sleep. I counted a thou- 
sand and then glanced at Miss Ottley. Her gaze 
was fixed on me. 

“You are overtired,” she said, and her tone 
was pure womanly. 

It irritated and amused me to find she could so 
unaffectedly assume it. I smiled. 


SARCOPHAGUS’S PERFUME 39 

She interpreted the smile aloud. “What sound 
reason have you for despising me?” she asked. 

You pretend to be a scientist. Answer me as 
such, rejecting bias.” 

“ I don’t,” said I. 

“Then you dislike me; why?” 

“I don’t.” 

Her lip curled. « Oh, indeed.” She arose and 
brought me a cushion. I took it and our hands 
touched. I must conclude, then, that you like 
me? She drew her hand swiftly away and re- 
turned to her seat. 

I smiled again. ‘‘Undoubtedly, Miss Ottley.” 

Thank you.” The tone was instinct with sar- 
casm. 

Confess that you are craving for a little human 
sympathy.” 

“I!” she exclaimed and started haughtily. 

Being a woman and in a simply damnable posi- 
tion.” 

“ Ah ! ” she cried, “ you admit that.” 

“My dear girl, whenever I think of it your pluck 
amazes me.” 

To my astonishment her eyes closed and her 
bosom heaved. Then I saw such a struggle as I 
do not wish ever to witness again. Pride pre- 
vented her from raising her hand to hide her face. 
And pride put up a superhuman fight with human 
weakness. Her features were distorted. One could 
see that soul and body were engaged in mortal 


40 


THE LIVING MUMMY 


combat That spectacle was poignantly fascinating. 
I thrilled to see it and yet hated myself for not be- 
ing able to look away. Why — who knows? But 
at length I could stand it no longer. I got up and 
shook her gently. She stiffened into marble, but 
did not offer to resist me. 

“ Peace, peace,” I said. “ You foolish, foolish 
child, you are wasting forces that were given you 
for quite another purpose.” 

Suddenly her eyes opened and looked straight 
in mine. What ? ” she questioned, and two great 
tears rolled down her cheeks. 

“ Why do you hate your sex ? ” I asked. “ God 
knows it is more valuable than mine.” 

“ Man,” she muttered — and shuddered from me 
■ — bitterly defiant. 

“ Woman,” I retorted. “ And each of us with 
a fateful mission to fulfil, not to fight against.” 

“Yours to sting, to hurt, to crush.” 

“ And yours to foster and create a better, finer- 
natured breed.” 

“ Generous ? ” she sneered. “ Is it possible ? ” 

“My dear girl,” said I, “I haven^t a temper 
to lose; I am a sober, cold-blooded man of the 
world. Of thirty.” 

I laughed out heartily, then stopped, remember-. 
ing the patient. He stirred and we both hurried 
to his side. But he did not wake. 

I looked up and offered Miss Ottley my right 
hand. 


SARCOPHAGUS’S PERFUME 41 

“ We started badly,” I whispered, “ but still we 
may be friends.” 

Her eyes darkened with anger. She stood like 
a statue regarding me, her expression sphinx-like 
and brooding. “ Instinct says one thing and pride 
another!” I hazarded. 

She coloured to her chin, but her firm glance did 
not falter. 

‘‘Ah, well,” said I, and made off to my stone 
couch, convinced that a nian wh^ argues with a 
woman is ^ fool. And I was punished properly. 
She haunted my dreams. 


Chapter V 

The Shadow in the Cave 

W E ate heartily, the pair of us, that even- 
ing. The effect on me was comforting 
and humanising. I felt well disposed 
to my fellow man — and woman, and inclined to 
sanguine expectations. Miss Ottl^y, however, was, 
as usual, impenetrable. She belonged of right to 
the age of iron. A female anachronism. To 
cheer her I suggested a game of chess. She con- 
sented, and mated me in fourteen moves. We 
played again, and once more she beat me. My 
outspoken admiration of her skill — I rather fancy 
my own play at chess — left her perfectly im- 
perturbable. In the third game she predicted my 
defeat at the eleventh move on making her own 
fourth. I did my best, but her prophecy was ful- 
filled. “ Enough I ” said I, and retiring to the door 
way, I lighted a cigarette. 

“ Hassan Ali, our dragoman, should be here to- 
morrow,” she presently remarked, “ with troops.” 

“ They will never catch our rascal Arabs,” I re- 
plied. “With five clear days* start those beggars 
might be anywhere.** 


49 


THE SHADOW IN THE CAVE 43 

“Just so,” said she, “but they will be of some 
use none the less — if only to drag* that sarcophagus 
out of the temple.” 

“ Eh ! ” I exclaimed— and looked at her sharply. 
“What is the matter with the thing— here?” 

She shrugged her shoulders, then of a sudden 
smiled. “ Do you wish to be amused ? ” 

“ Of all things.” 

“ Then prepare to laugh at me. While you slept 
this afternoon ” She paused. 

“Yes,” I said. 

“ My father awoke.” 

“ Oh!” 

“And conversed.” 

“Good,” I murmured. “He was sensible.” 

“I do not know. He seemed so. But he did 
not speak to me.” 

“ You said that he conversed.” 

“Ay — ^but with a shadow.” 

Miss Ottley compressed her lips and looked at 
me defiantly. 

“ A shadow,” she repeated. “ I saw it distinctly. 
It moved across the room and stood beside the cot. 
It was the shadow of a man. But you are not 
laughing.” 

“Not yet,” said I. “Had this shadow a 
voice ? ” 

“ No.” 

“ What did your father say to it ? ” 

“ He implored it to be patient.” 


44 


THE LIVING MUMMY 


“ And the shadow ? ” 

“ Vanished.” 

“And you?” 

“ I told myself I dreamed. I tried not to die of 
terror, and succeeded.” 

“ Why did you not wake me ? ” 

“I wished to, but the shadow intervened.” 

“It reappeared?” 

“ For a second that reduced me to a state of 
trembling imbecility.” 

“That infernal perfume has simply shattered 
your nerves,” I commented cheerfully. “You’ll be 
better after a good rest. Overstrain and anxiety 
of course are to a degree responsible. Indeed, they 
might be held accountable for the hallucination 
alone. But I blame the perfume to a great extent, 
because it similarly affected me.” 

“ What ! ” she cried, “ you saw a shadow ,too ? ” 

I laughed softly. “ My own — no other. But its 
appearance shocked me horribly. In my opinion 
that coffin perfume works powerfully upon the op- 
tic nerve. How are you feeling now ? ” 

“As well as ever in my life.” 

“No fears?” 

“ None. But I admit a distrust of that sar- 
cophagus — or rather of the perfume it contains. Are 
you sure that you stopped up the chisel hole se- 
curely?” 

“ Quite. But pardon me. Miss Ottley, you are 
looking weary. Take my advice and retire now.” 


THE SHADOW IN THE CAVE 45 

Thanks. I shall/’ she said, and with a cool 
bow she went into the inner chamber. An hour 
later Sir Robert awoke. He was quite sensible 
and appeared much better. I fed him and we ex- 
changed a few cheerful remarks. He declared 
that he had turned the corner and expressed a 
strong desire to be up and about his work again. 
He also asked after his daughter, and thanked me 
warmly for my services. Soon afterwards he 
dropped off into a tranquil slumber, and I spent the 
remainder of my watch reading a Review. As 
I was not very tired I gave Miss Ottley grace, and 
it was a quarter to one when I awakened her. She 
came out looking as fresh as a rose, her cheeks 
scarlet from their plunge in cool water and con- 
sequent towelling. She invited me to use her 
couch, but I declined, and sought my accustomed 
corner. I slept like the dead — for (I subsequently 
discovered) just about an hour. But then I awoke 
choking and gasping for breath. I had an abom- 
inable sensation of strong fingers clutched about 
my throat. At first all was dark before me. But 
struggling afoot, the shadows receded from my eyes, 
and I saw the lamp — a second afterwards. Miss 
Ottley. She stood with her back against the fur- 
ther wall of the chamber, her hands outstretched 
as if to repel an impetuous opponent; and her face 
was cast in an expression of unutterable terror. 

“ Miss Ottley ! ” I cried. 

She uttered a strangled scream, then staggered 


46 THE LIVING MUMMY, 

towards me. Oh ! thank God — ^you were too 
strong — for him/' she gasped. “ He tried to kill 
you — and I could not move nor cry.” 

“,Who?” I demanded. 

“ The — the shadow.” She caught my arms and 
gripped them with hysterical vigour. 

I forced her to sit down and hurried to her 
father. He was sleeping like a babe. I thought 
of the asphyxiating sensation I had experienced 
and stepped gently to my sleeping corner. Kneel- 
ing down, I struck a match. The flame burned 
steadily. Not carbonic acid gas then at all events; 
but I tried the whole room to make sure, also the 
interior of the sarcophagus, but without result. So 
far bafflled, I stood up and thought. What agency 
had been at work to disturb us? I made a tour 
of the walls and examined the stones of their con- 
struction one by one. It seemed just possible that 
there might be a secret entrance to the chamber; 
and some robber Arab acquainted with it might 
be employing it for evil ends. But I was forced 
to abandon that idea like the other. And no one 
had entered through the pylon, for the dust about 
the doorway was absolutely impressionless. What 
then? I turned to Miss Ottley. She was watch- 
ing me with evidently painful expectation, her hands 
tightly clasped. 

‘ What made you think the shadow wished to 
kill me? ” I inquired. 

“ I saw its face.” 


THE SHADOW IN THE CAVE 47 

“ Oh ! it has a face now, eh ? ” 

“ The face of a devil ; and long thin hands. It 
fastened them about your throat.” 

“ My dear girl.” 

“ Don’t be a fool,” she retorted stormily ; what 
aroused you ? Did you hear me call ? ” 

I was confounded. Very good,” I said, ‘‘ I 
admit the hands at least, for the nonce, for truly I 
was half strangled. But what do you infer?” 

Can human creatures make themselves invisible 
at will?” 

“ My good Miss Ottley, no. But they can run 
away.” 

‘‘ Do you want to see the shadow’s face ? ” 

‘‘Yes.” 

“Then look on the lid of the sarcophagus and 
see its portrait in a gentle mood.” 

“ Ptahmes ! ” I cried. 

“ Ay, Ptahmes,” she said slowly. “We are 
haunted by his spirit.” 

I sat down on the edge of the sarcophagus and 
lit a cigarette. 

“ I am quite at a present loss to explain my 
throttling,” I observed, “ but that is the only mys- 
tery. I reject your shadow with the contempt 
that it deserves. What you saw was some wander- 
ing Arab who hopped in here without troubling 
to tread through the dust in the doorway and who 
departed in the same fashion. Pish! There, too, 
is the mystery of my throttling solved.” 


48 


THE LIVING MUMMY 


“ Perhaps,” said she, ‘‘ indeed I hope so.” She 
was still trembling in spasms. 

“ Are you minded for the experiment ? ” I asked. 

“What is it?” 

“ I wish to drive this foolish fancy from your 
mind.” I took out my revolver and showed it to 
her. “ Spirits are said to love the dark best. Let us 
put out the lamp. It’s their element. How, then, 
can we better tempt old Ptahmes from his tomb?” 
I wound up with a laugh. “I can promise him 
a warm reception.” 

Miss Ottley shivered and grew if possible paler 
than before. But her pride was equal to the chal- 
lenge. “Very well,” she said. 

I drew up a stool near hers, put out the lamp 
and sat down. When my cigarette had burned out 
the darkness was blacker than the blackest ebony. 

“ An idea runs in my head that spirits respond 
most surely to silent wooers,” I murmured. “ But 
I have no experience. Have you?” 

“N-no,” said Miss Ottley. 

The poor girl was shivering with fear and too 
proud to admit it. I sought about for a pretext 
to comfort her and found one presently. 

“ Don’t they join hands at a seance? ” I inquired. 

“ I — I — t-think so,” said Miss Ottley. 

“Well, then.” 

Our hands encountered. Hers was pitifully cold. 
I enclosed it firmly in my left and held it on my 
knee. She sighed but ever so softly, trying to pre- 



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THE SHADOW IN THE CAVE 49 


vent my hearing it. Thereafter we were silent for 
very long, listening to the sick man's quiet breath- 
ing. No other sound was to be heard. But soon 
Miss Ottley’s hand grew warm, and the fingers 
twined around mine. It felt a nice good little hand. 
It was very small, yet firm and silken-smooth, and 
it possessed a strange electric quality. It made 
mine tingle — a distinctly pleasurable sensation. I 
fell into a dreamy mood and I think I must have 
indulged in forty winks, when all of a sudden Miss 
Ottley's hand aroused me. Her fingers were grip- 
ping mine with the force of a vice. She was breath- 
ing hard. 

** What is it ? ” I whispered. 

‘‘There is some — presence in the room," she 
gasped. “Don't you feel it?'’ 

And as I live, I did. I struck' a match and 
sprang afoot. Three paces off a man's face glow- 
ered at us in the fitful glimmer of the lucifer. Its 
characteristics were so unusual that it is not pos- 
sible ever to forget them. The eyes were large, dark 
and singularly dull. They were set at an extraor- 
dinary distance apart in the skull, six inches, I 
should say, at least. But the head, though abnor- 
mally broad thereabouts, tapered to a point in the 
chin and was cone-shaped above the wide receding 
temples. The cheek bones were high and promi- 
nent. They shone in the match light almost white 
in contrast with the dark skin of the more shaded 
portions of the countenance. The nose was long 


50 


THE LIVING MUMMY 


and aquiline, but the nostrils were broad and com- 
pressed at the base, pointing at negroid ancestry. 
The mouth, wide and thin-lipped, was tightly shut. 
The chin was long, sharp and hairless. The ears 
were bat-shaped. 

Recovering from my first shock of amazement, 
I addressed the intruder in Arabic. 

What are you doing here ? What do you 
want?’’ I cried. 

He did not answer. Enraged, I started forward 
and hit out from the shoulder. Striking air. The 
match went out. I lit another. The man had van- 
ished. I relighted the lamp and carefully examined 
the chamber. But our visitor had not left the 
slightest sign of his intrusion. 

I shook my head and went over to Miss Ottley. 
She was leaning against the wall with her eyes 
shut, her bosom heaving painfully. 

I touched her and she started — suppressing a 
shriek. Her lips were trickling blood where she 
had bitten them. Her face was ghastly and she 
seemed about to swoon. 

Pish ! ” I cried, “ there is nothing to be fright- 
ened of. A rascally Arab — knows some secret way 
of entering this cavern, that is all.” 

She swayed towards me. I caught her as she 
fell and bore her to a stool. But though quite 
overcome she was not unconscious. Yet her forti- 
tude was broken down at last and she was helpless. 
She could not even sit up unassisted. Placing her 


THE SHADOW IN THE CAVE 51 

on the floor a while, I made her drink some spirit 
and then, lifting her upon my knee, I rocked her in 
my arms like a child and did my best to soothe her 
fears. Heavens, how she cried! My handkerchief 
was soon as wet as if I had soused it in a basin of 
water, and yet she still cried on. I spoke to her 
all the time. I told her that I would answer for 
her safety with my life, and all sorts of things. 
And thinking of her as a poor little child, I called 
her ‘‘ dear continually and “ darling ” — and I let 
her weep herself into an exhausted sleep upon my 
breast. And when that happened I did not need 
anyone to tell me that science was no longer the 
mistress of my fate or that I, a comparative pau- 
per, had committed the unutterable folly of fall- 
ing in love with the daughter of a millionaire — 
whose religion was Pride with a capital P. I held 
her so till dawn, staring dumbly at her face, and 
thus when her eyes opened they looked straight 
into mine. She did not move, and half-unwillingly 
my arms tightened round her. “ The bad dream 
is over, little girl, ‘‘ I whispered. ‘‘ See — the golden 
sunlight.'’ 

May — May," said Sir Robert's voice. 

She started up, her face aflame. I followed her 
to the bedside. The patient was awake, and strong 
and hungry. Also querulous. He complained of 
the pain of the wound and ordered me to dress it. 
He had seen nothing. But I knew Miss Ottley 
would not forgive me on that account. I read it in 


52 


THE LIVING MUMMY 


her eyes. After I had dressed the patient’s wound 
and we had fed him, she followed me to the door. 

‘‘You had no right to let me sleep — like that,” 
she said imperiously. 

There was nothing for it but to insult her or 
to prove myself an adventurer. I had no mind for 
the latter course. “ Quite right,” I returned, 
“when you behaved like an idiot I should have 
treated you as such and left you to recover from 
your own silly terror instead of acting the soft 
fool and losing my own rest in serving you. I’ll 
do it, too — next time. What will you have for 
breakfast ? ” 

She swung on her heel and left me. 


Chapter VI 
Enter Dr. Belleville 

W HILE waiting for the kettle to boil I 
happened to glance in the direction of 
the Nile. !A column of moving smoke at 
once attracted my attention. A launch, of course, 
and what more likely than that it should contain 
soldiers, Arabs, servants, and a surgeon. “ I shall 
soon be free to return to my work, it seems ! ” I 
said aloud, and it is wonderful what a lot of dis- 
satisfaction the reflection gave me. I came within 
an ace, indeed, of consigning the Nile Monuments 
to literary perdition. But only temporarily. For 
I felt that I should need as engrossing mental 
occupation soon. Work is a fine consoler. The 
party arrived a few minutes before noon. It con- 
sisted of Sir Robert Ottley’s dragoman, half a 
company of Egyptian camel corps under command 
of a fussy little English-French lieutenant named 
Thomas Dubois, some twenty swart-faced fellaheen 
labourers, and two English friends of Sir Robert 
and his daughter. The latter were rather singular 
personages. One was middle-aged, short and 
thick and bearded like the pard ’’ up to his 
very eyes. He rejoiced in the name of William 

53 


54 


THE LIVING MUMMY 


Belleville and was a Fellow of the Royal College 
of Surgeons. The other one was tall and thin and 
marvellously good-looking. He called himself Cap- 
tain Frankfort Weldon, and I soon discovered was 
an Honourable. Preparatory to discharging myself 
in toto of my responsibilities, I took charge of the 
entire crowd. I have been assured by my best 
friends that I am a natural autocrat. Those who 
are not my friends have sometimes described me as 
an arrogant and self-assertive egotist. I contend, 
however, that I was eminently well qualified to judge 
what was best to be done, in that instance, at all 
events, and it is not my fault that Weldon and Belle- 
ville chose to consider themselves slighted because 
I did not ask their advice. Within ten minutes I 
had sent the camel soldiers packing across the 
desert in the direction taken by the Arab robbers. 
They did not want to go in the least, but I put my 
foot down hard, and they went. Without losing 
a moment thereafter I made the fellaheen erect a 
large double tent in a shaded cleft in the mountain 
at some distance from the temple. It did not take 
them long, for I directed their operations personally. 

I then marched them to the temple. Miss Ottley 
was talking to the Englishmen in the pylon. I 
bowed and passed her, followed by the fellaheen. I 
gave to each man a task, the carriage of some piece 
of furniture. The two strongest I appointed as 
bearers of Sir Robert Ottley’s cot. The baronet 
was awake. He questioned me. 


ENTER DR. BELLEVILLE 55 


‘‘ What are you doing, Pinsent? ” 

“ Pm going to move you to a tent for better air, 
to hasten your recovery,” I said. 

He only sighed and wearily closed his eyes. 

Then the procession started. When Miss Ottley 
saw her father being carried out, she was so sur- 
prised that she stood dumb. Turning round a little 
later I saw that she and her friends were convers- 
ing amiably. Arrived at the tents, I fixed the 
patient comfortably, then arranged the furniture in 
both apartments; the outer, of course, was to be 
Miss Ottley’s room. 

|When all was done, I dismissed the fellaheen to 
other tasks and walked up to Ottley’s cot. ‘‘ Sir 
Robert,” said I. 

His eyes opened and he looked at me. 

‘‘You know that your friend. Dr. Belleville, has 
come ? ” 

“ Yes — we have had a chat.” 

“ So. Well, I now propose to turn the case 
over to him. Your recovery should be rapid. You 
are already practically convalescent.” 

“You are leaving me?” 

“You no longer need my services.” 

“ How can I ever repay you, Pinsent, for your 
extreme kindness to me ? ” 

“ Easily ; let me be present when you open the 
coffin of Ptahmes.” 

“ What?” 

/‘Ah!” said I, “I forgot.” I then told him of 


36 THE LIVING MUMMY 

my experiment with the sarcophagus, and the per- 
fume. He listened with the most passionate at- 
tention. Finally he said: 

“ You are not certain the sarcophagus does con- 
tain the body, though?’’ 

“Not certain. Sir Robert.” 

“ Yet you told me, if I remember aright, that, 
that ” 

“You were dying,” I interrupted. “I had to 
arouse you. But, after all, I feel sure your de- 
sire will be gratified. I have no sort of doubt but 
that a body lies in the coffin.” 

‘ Nor I,” said he. “ The papyrus speaks of an 
essential oil the mere scent of which arrests de- 
cay. Ptahmes alone knew the secret of its prepa- 
ration. But the sarcophagus must be guarded. Pin- 
sent.” 

“ ril fix a watch,” I said, and held out my hand. 

“ Good-bye, sir.” 

“You are returning to your camp?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Then au revoir, Pinsent. I shall send for you 
as soon as I am well enough to investigate the 
coffin.” 

“ Thank you.” 

But he continued to hold my hand and looked 
me in the eyes earnestly. “Be careful of your- 
self,” he murmured. 

Careful, I repeated, puzzled. 

"Ay,” he murmured still lower, “you have in- 


ENTER DR. BELLEVILLE 57 


curred the curse unwittingly — but still you have in- 
curred it.” 

‘\What curse?” 

“ The curse which Ptahmes directed against all 
desecrators of his tomb.” 

I thought he raved, and felt his pulse. But it was 
steady as a rock. “ Come, come,” I said with a 
smile. “ I shall be thinking you a superstitious 
man. Sir Robert, presently.” 

“ Do you believe in God ? ” he asked. 

“ Yes,” I cried, astounded. 

‘‘Then are you not superstitious, too? But 
there, I have warned you. I’ll say no more. 
Good-bye. Kindly send my daughter to me.” 

I found Miss Ottley and the two Englishmen 
at the door of the outer tent. “ Sir Robert wants 
you, Miss Ottley,” I observed, and passed on. I 
had hardly gone a dozen yards, however, when I 
found I had a companion on either side of me. 

Dr. Belleville immediately opened fire. “ You 
have been taking time by the forelock. Dr. Pinsent,” 
he said softly. “ I should hardly have moved the 
patient for a day or two. He is very weak.” 

“ My name is Frankfort Weldon — Captain Wel- 
don,” said the handsome soldier — introducing him- 
self. “ I think you have annoyed Miss Ottley, 
Dr. Pinsent. Seems to me you should have con- 
sulted her before acting, at least.” 

I glanced from one to the other and shrugged 
my shoulders. “ The thing is done,” said I. “ Gen- 


58 


THE LIVING MUMMY 


tlemen, good-day/^ My long legs left them quickly 
in the rear. There seemed no good reason to waste 
time in explaining myself to them. They would 
soon enough find out the reasonableness of my ac- 
tions for themselves, if possessed of ordinary human 
curiosity. But a second later I stopped and turned. 

Dr. Belleville,’’ I shouted, “ I shall fix a watch at 
the temple. Ottley wishes it maintained. Miss 
Ottley will tell you why.” 

I found the fellaheen collected in a group near 
the old store house. They eyed me approaching 
with open sullenness. I chose two among their num- 
ber and directed them to stand guard before the 
pylon for four hours. The two I had picked moved 
off obediently enough, but they were stopped almost 
on instant by their leader, a big ruffian with a 
scarred, black face and wild, fiercely scowling eyes. 
Sir Robert Ottley’s dragoman hurried to my side. 
“ Softly, Excellency, or there will be trouble,” he 
muttered. Let me speak to them. Yazouk is a 
chief — he will not be commanded. His term of 
service does not start till to-morrow. He is angry.” 

‘‘ Silence, you,” I responded in the same tone. 

There is but one way to crush a nigger mutiny.” 

I stepped smilingly forward, looking into Ya- 
zouk’s eyes. The black giant — ^he stood six feet 
four in his bare feet and was a splendid physical 
specimen — ^put his hand on the knife in his belt. 
But before he could guess at my intention he was 
sprawling on the sand. He uttered the yell of an 


ENTER DR. BELLEVILLE 59 

angry wild beast and, springing up, rushed at me 
with bare blade. I stepped aside and kicked him in 
the stomach. He collapsed, howling dismally. I 
marched up to the rest, who were all handling their 
knives, and showed them my revolver. Two min- 
utes later they were all disarmed and I was a walk- 
ing arsenal. I turned to the dragoman. ‘‘ I am 
going away, Mehemet — to my own camp. But so 
that you will have no trouble with this scum, 
I shall take their chief with me. I need a 
servant.” 

Mehemet bowed to the very ground. ‘‘ Your 
Excellency knows best,” he muttered reverently. 

“ Yazouk,” said I, ‘‘yonder is my ass. Go saddle 
him for me.” 

Yazouk went. He returned with the ass sad- 
dled and bridled before I was half through a cig- 
arette. I mounted forthwith and started towards 
my long-deserted camp. “ Come, Yazouk ! ” I called 
out carelessly, and I took good care not to look 
back. There is no means surer of making an Afri- 
can obey you than to act as if you are certain he 
has no alternative. Perhaps Yazouk hesitated for 
a moment, torn with fear and hate, but he followed 
me. Soon I heard the patter of his footsteps on 
the sand. Then I said to myself, “Now, if this 
man is to remain with me and be my servant I 
must make him fear me as he would the plague. 
But how ? ” I solved the riddle at the end of five 
miles. I must show him that I despised him ut- 


60 


THE LIVING MUMMY 


terly. So I stopped. He stopped. Twenty paces 
separated us. “ Yazouk/’ I said, “ come here I ” 

He approached, eyeing me like a wolf. “ From 
this day for a month, Yazouk, you shall be my 
slave,” I observed calmly. “ If you prove a good 
slave I shall pay you when the term ends at the 
rate of fifty piasters a day. If you offend me by so 
much as winking an eyelash I shall not only pay 
you nothing, but I shall ask Poseidon to transform 
you into a hyena. Will you like that ? ” 

Yazouk did not remark on my dreadful threat, 
but there was murder in his eyes. I smiled at 
him, and, always looking him full in the face, I took 
one by one the knives I had taken from his fellows, 
from my belt and cast them on the sand at his feet. 
“It is not fit for a lord to carry such trash when 
he has a slave,” I said. “ Pick up those knives.” 

Yazouk obeyed me. When he stood upright again 
there was a great doubt in his eyes. I thought to 
myself, it would be quite easy for this ruffian to 
murder me at any time in my sleep, and already I 
am a wreck for want of sleep. I -threw my revol- 
ver on the sand. “ Carry that, too I ” I commanded 
loftily — and spurred my ass on. Probably a vol- 
ume might be written on the state of Yazouk’s 
mind as he trudged along behind me to my camp 
— a, whole compendium of psychology. But I can- 
not write it, because I never once glanced at him, 
and, therefore, I can only guess at the turmoil of 
his thoughts. But the event justified my expecta- 
tions. I was so mortally wearied when I reached 


ENTER DR. BELLEVILLE 61 


my camp that I had no heart left even to discover 
whether my precious manuscripts had been disturbed 
by some chance wayfarer of the wilderness. It suf- 
ficed me that my tent was standing and that it con- 
tained a cot. I cast myself down, without even 
troubling to remove my boots, and I slept like the 
dead for sixteen solid hours. When I awoke it was 
high noon. A steaming bowl of coffee stood upon 
my table and a mess of baked rice and fish. Beside 
the plate lay my revolver, and every one of the 
knives I had given Yazouk to carry. Yazouk him- 
self stood at the flap of the tent, a monstrous, 
stolid sentinel. When I arose he bent almost double. 
I swept the armoury into a drawer and attacked 
my breakfast with the relish of a famished man. 
Then I set to work with the energy of a giant re- 
freshed; and with short intervals for meals, sleep 
and exercise, I toiled at my book thereafter till it 
was roughly finished. So twenty days sped by. 
Throughout Yazouk waited upon me like the slave 
of Aladdin’s lamp. I had not a fault to find with 
him. Indeed, he was a perfect jewel of a servant, 
and he stood in such abject terror of my every 
movement, nod or smile or frown, that I could have 
wished to retain his services for ever. But that 
was not to be. On the twenty-first morning he ac- 
cidentally dropped a cup and broke it. I heard the 
smash and looked up. It was to see Yazouk flying 
like a panic-stricken deer into the desert. I shouted 
to recall him, but he only sped the faster. 


Chapter VII 
The One Goddess 


I SPENT the rest of the day covering up the 
stele I had unearthed with sand. There was no 
use thinking of attempting to transport it 
to Cairo under existing circumstances. But I 
had no mind to be deprived of the credit attached 
to its discovery. So I hid it well. Afterwards 
I gathered up my portable possessions, includ- 
ing my tent, and packed them in a load for my ass’s 
back ready for the morrow. For I had resolved 
to set out on the morrow for the Hill of Rakh. 
Surely, I thought, Ottley will be quite recovered 
by this. I wondered why he had not sent for m^ 
before — ^in accordance with his pledge. Had he 
forgotten it? The desert was exceptionally still 
that evening. There was a new moon, and although 
it gave but little light, it seemed to have chained 
the denizens of the wilderness to cover. I lay upon 
the sand gazing up at the stars and listening in 
vain for sounds, for hours, then, at length, I fell 
into a quiet doze. The howling of a jackal awak- 
ened me. It was very far off, therefore I must have 
slept lightly. A long sleep, for the moon had dis- 
appeared. The darkness that lay upon the land 
was like the impenetrable gloom of a rayless cave. 


THE ONE GODDESS 63 


But the heavens were spangled with twinkling eyes, 
that beamed upon me very friendly wise. I had 
lost all desire to repose, but I had found a craving 
for a pipe. I took out my old briar-wood, there- 
fore, charged it to the brim and struck a match. 
** My God ! ” I gasped and scrambled afoot. The 
tall Arab who had terrified Miss Ottley in the cave 
temple at Rakh stood about three paces off intently 
regarding me. I struck a second match before the 
first had burned out, then felt for my revolver. 

“ Tell me what it is you want,” I cried in Arabic, 
“ and quickly, or I fire.” 

He did not speak, but very slowly he moved to- 
wards me. I raised the pistol. “ Stop,” I said. He 
did not stop. ‘‘ Then have it ! ” I cried, and pulled 
the trigger. 

He did not flinch from the blistering flash of the 
discharge. It seemed to me that it should have 
seared his face and that the bullet should have split 
his skull. I had a momentary glimpse of a ghastly, 
brownish-yellow visage and of two dull widely sep- 
arated eyes peering into mine. Then all was dark 
again and I was struggling as never I had struggled 
in my life before. Long, stiff fingers clutched my 
throat. A rigid wood-like form was pressed against 
my own and my nostrils were filled with a sickly 
penetrating odour which I all too sharply recognised. 
It was the perfume that had issued from the sar- 
cophagus of Ptahmes when I drove my chisel 
through the lead. At first I grasped nothing but air. 


64 


THE LIVING MUMMY 


But clutching wildly at the things that gripped my 
throat, I caught hands at last composed of bone. 
There was no flesh on them, or so it seemed to me. 
Yet it was good to grip something. It gave me 
heart. I had a horrible feeling for some awful 
seconds of contending with the supernatural. But 
those hands were hard and firm. They compressed 
my windpipe. Back and fro we writhed. I heard 
nothing but my own hard breathing. I was being 
slowly strangled. It was very hard to drag those 
hands apart. But I am strong, stronger than many 
men who earn their living by exhibiting to the vul- 
gar feats of strength. Impelled by fear of death, 
I exerted my reserve of force, and driving will and 
muscle into one supreme united effort I tore the 
death grip from my neck and flung the Arab off. 
Uttering a sobbing howl of relief and rage, I fol- 
lowed him and caught him by the middle. Then 
stooping low, I heaved him high and dashed him to 
the ground. There came a sound of snapping wood 
or bones, but neither sigh nor cry of any sort. 
“ We’ll see,” I growled, and struck a match. The 
sand before me was dinted, but deserted. The Arab 
had vanished. My senses rocked in horrified aston- 
ishment. My flesh crept. A cold chill of vague un- 
reasoning terror caught me. I listened, all my nerves 
taut strained, peering wildly round into the dark. 
But the silence was unbroken. Nothing was to be 
heard, nothing was to be seen. Were it not for the 
dinted sand and the marks of feet other than my 


THE ONE GODDESS 


65 


own where we had stepped and struggled, I could 
have come to the conclusion I had dreamed. After 
a while spent in soothing panic fears, I sneaked off 
to my baggage and extracted from the pile a candle 
lamp. This I lighted and, returning, searched the 
sands on hands and knees. The stranger’s foot- 
prints were longer than my own and they were 
toe-marked. Plainly, then, he had stolen on me 
naked-footed. Looking wide around the dint made 
by his falling body I came presently upon some 
more of them. They were each a yard apart, and 
led towards the Hill of Rakh. Yet only for a 
little while. Soon they grew fainter and fainter. 
Finally they disappeared. Tortured by the mystery 
of it all, I halted where the footprints vanished and, 
putting out the lamp, squatted on the ground to 
wait for dawn. It came an hour later, but it told 
me nothing fresh. Indeed, it only rendered the 
riddle more intolerably maddening. Where had 
my Arab gone ? And how had he come ? For there 
was not a single footprint leading to the camp. Of 
course he might have thrown a cloak before him 
on which to walk; and thus he might have pro- 
gressed and left no trace. But wherefore such ex- 
traordinary caution? And why should he be so 
anxious to conceal himself? It was hard to give 
up the riddle, but easier to abandon than to solve it. 
Calling philosophy to my aid and imagination, I 
determined that my Arab was some mad hermit 
upon whose solitude Ottley had intruded in the first 


66 


THE LIVING MUMMY 


instance, and I in the second. And that he had con- 
ceived a, particular animosity for some unknown 
reason against my humble self and wished to kill 
me. Without a doubt, he had some secret hid- 
ing-place and feared lest I should seek to discover 
it. Perhaps he had found some treasure of which 
he had constituted himself the jealous guardian. 
I felt sure, at any rate, that he was mad. His 
actions had always been so peculiar and his speech- 
lessness so baffling and astonishing and crassly un- 
reasonable. But he or someone had killed my 
donkey. I found the poor beast lying in a hollow, 
dead as Caesar. A knife had been employed, a 
long, sharp-pointed knife — perhaps a sword. It 
had searched out the creature’s heart and pierced 
it. I made a hasty autopsy in order to be sure. 
The circumstance was most exasperating. It con- 
demned me to the task of being my own beast 
of burthen. And the load was not a light one. 
I made, however, the best of a bad job, and hav- 
ing fortified myself with a good breakfast, I 
started off laden like a pack-horse for the Hill of 
Rakh. Having covered four miles, I stopped. Miss 
Ottley and Captain Frankfort Weldon had suddenly 
come into view. They were mounted. I sat down 
on my baggage, lighted a cigarette and waited. 
Common elementary Christian charity would compel 
them to offer me a lift. It was a good thought. It 
is not right that a man should work like a beast. 
And^ besides, it was cheering to see Miss Ottley 


THE ONE GODDESS 


67 


again. She came up looking rather care-worn and 
a good deal surprised. I arose and doffed my 
hat like a courtier. Captain Weldon touched 
his helmet with his whip by way of salute. He 
might have just stepped out of a bandbox. I felt 
he did not like me. The girl looked at me with 
level brows. 

“Sir Robert well and strong again?/' I asked. 

“ Quite,” said Miss Ottley. 

“ We were on our way to pay you a visit,” ob- 
served the Captain. 

“ Sir Robert wants me,” I hazarded. 

Miss Ottley shrugged her shoulders. “ Does 
he?” she asked, then added with a tinge of irony, 
“ You seem content to be one of those who are al- 
ways neglected until a need arises for their services. 
Does it appear impossible that we might have con- 
templated a friendly call ? ” 

“ I have no parlour tricks,” I explained. 

Her lip curled. “ You need not tell me. You 
left without troubling to bid me as much as a good- 
day. How long ago? Three weeks. Why?” Her 
tone was really imperious. 

“ But I left a benediction on the doorstep,” I re- 
sponded. “ You looked cross and I was in a hurry.” 

Her eyes blazed; they were beautiful to see. 
“ Where are you going? ” she demanded. 

“ To call on your father.” 

“ You have a load,” observed the Captain. 

“ A mere nothing,” 


68 


THE LIVING MUMMY 


** Is not that a tent?” 

** I am shifting camp.” 

“That nigger chap — ^Yazouk — came along last 
evening. But he vanished during the night. ;We 
fancied something might have happened.” 

“ Oh, Yazouk. He broke a cup and feared I 
would turn him into a hyena, so he ran away.” 

“ What ! ” shouted the Captain. 

“A superstitious creature,” I shrugged. 

The Captain shook with laughter. “ We won- 
dered how you had tamed him,” he chuckled pres- 
ently — “ after the bout. ’Pon honour, you served 
him very prettily. Straight from the shoulder and 
savate, too. The dragoman declares you have the 
evil eye.” 

“ Have you lost your donkey, Dr. Pinsent?” de- 
manded Miss Ottley. 

“ He expired suddenly last evening.” 

Captain Weldon frowned and sat up very straight 
in his saddle. 

“ Eh ? ” he said and looked a question. 

“ I had an Arab visitor. My visitor or another 
killed my donkey with a knife. I should like to 
have caught him in the act.” 

“ My dream,” said Miss Ottley, and caught her 
breath. 

“ By Jove,” said the Captain, “ it is really won- 
derful — ^but wait— you had a visitor. Doctor?” 

“ I believe it.” 

“ Did he offer to attack you? ” 


THE ONE GODDESS 


69 


‘‘The spirit of the cavern!” cried the girl. 

“ A lunatic of an Arab,” I retorted, “ and so little 
of a spirit that I had hard work to prevent him 
throttling me.” 

“ But the face. Did you see the face ? ” 

“ Our friend of the cavern,” I admitted. 

Miss Ottley glanced at the Captain, then back at 
me. She was as white as a lily. 

“ I knew it,” she said. “ I saw him kill the don- 
key and steal upon you — in a dream. His hands 
were bloody — ^and, look, there is blood still on your 
throat.” 

“ My cask was empty, so perforce I could not 
wash,” I murmured. The Captain looked thunder- 
struck. “ It's the most wonderful thing,” he kept 
repeating, the most wonderful thing in the world.” 

“ And I never thought of looking in the mirror. 
It was packed up,” I went on. I took out a rather 
grimy kerchief and began to rub at my neck. 

“ Has that wretched Arab — ^worried you at all 
— since I left. Miss Ottley ? ” 

“ I have seen him twice — and once more ” (she 
shuddered) “ in my dream.” 

“ And where did you see him out of dreams ? ” 

“ Once in the cavern and once in my father's 
tent. Each time at night. Each time he vanished 
like a shadow.” 

“ Did anyone else see him? ” 

“ My father and Captain Weldon.” 

“ The most hideous brute I ever saw,” commented 


70 


THE LIVING MUMMY 


the Captain ; ‘‘ you could put a good-sized head be- 
tween his eyes. And such eyes. Dull as mud, but 
horribly intelligent.’’ 

Well, well,” said 1. ‘‘ We’ll know more about 
him some day soon, perhaps, that is, if we stay long 
enough at the Hill of Rakh. He has a hiding 
thereabouts — ^without a doubt. Your father is pin- 
ing to open the tomb of Ptahmes, I suppose. Miss 
Ottley? ” 

He has opened it,” she answered. 

“ Oh ! ” I exclaimed — and stopped dead in the 
act of naming Sir Robert a thankless perjurer. 

The girl was looking at me hard. “ You are 
surprised ? ” 

Curious,” I growled. It was hard to say, for 
I was furious. 

I cannot enlighten your curiosity,” she said. 

“ No?” 

‘‘ He permitted no one to be present to assist 
him. It took place the day before yesterday in the 
cave temple. And the tomb is now closed again.” 

“ You are then unaware what is discovered? ” 

“ Perfectly.” 

“And Sir Robert?” 

“ You will find my father greatly changed. Dr. 
Pinsent.” 

“ Indeed.” 

“ He seems to be quite strong, but he has aged' 
notably, and he will hardly condescend to converse 
with anyone, even me. Moreover, the subject of 


71 


THE ONE GODDESS 

Ptahmes is tabooed. The very name enrages him. 
Dr. Belleville has forbidden it to be mentioned in 
his hearing.” 

“ Humph ! ” said I. “ If my donkey were alive 
I should go to Kwansu straight. But as it is I shall 
have to trespass for a stretch on your preserves at 
Rakh. I hate it, too, for your father has broken 
faith with me.” 

“ Ah ! ” cried the girl. He promised that you 
should help him open the tomb.” 

“ Exactly.” 

“ You must not be hard on him. I believe that 
he is not quite himself.” 

“ Oh ! I am accustomed to that sort of treatment 
from the Ottleys,” I replied. 

It was brutal beyond question, but I was past 
reckoning on niceties with rage. Captain Weldon 
turned scarlet and raised his whip. “ Dr. Pinsent,” 

he cried, “ you forget yourself. For two pins ” 

then he stopped — having met my eyes. I laughed 
in his face. “Why not? ” I queried jibingly. “ It 
would be not only chivalrous — a lady looking on — 
but safe. Have you ever seen a St. Bernard hurt 
a spaniel ? ” 

He went deathly and slashed me with his whip. 
Poor boy. I never blamed him. Pd have done the 
same myself. As for me, the blow descended and 
cooled my beastly temper, which was an unmiti- 
gated blessing. I took his whip away and gave it 
back to him. Then I laughed out, tickled at the 


72 


THE LIVING MUMMY 


humour of the situation, though it only told against 
myself. ‘‘ I had intended accepting your offer of 
your mule for my belongings, I chuckled. “ You 
haven’t offered him, but that’s a detail. And now 
I can’t.” I shook with laughter. 

Weldon leaped on instant to the ground. “ Do, 
do ! ” he almost groaned. 

He was a generous youngster. “ And forgive 
me ! ” he said. ‘‘ If you can — it was a coward 
blow.” 

“Gladly I’ll forgive you,” I replied, and we 
clasped hands. 

“ I’ll help you load the beast,” said he. 

But I put my foot on my baggage. “ That mule,” 
I said, “ belongs to Sir Robert Ottley. I’ll not 
risk the breaking of his back.” 

We looked at one another and I saw the Captain 
understood me. He turned rather sheepishly away, 
but did not mount immediately. 

Miss Ottley was gazing over the desert. “ You 
must know you are behaving like a child,” she 
cuttingly remarked. 

I shook my head at the Captain. “ That means 
you are keeping a lady waiting,” I observed. 

He smiled wrily in spite of himself. “ Scottish, 
are you not ? ” he asked. 

“ From Aberdeen.” 

He climbed on the mule’s back. “ I’m thinking 
Dr. Pinsent would like to be alone,” he said. 

Miss Ottley nodded and they rode off together. 


THE ONE GODDESS 


73 


I picked up my swag and trudged after them. It 
was dry work. About twenty minutes later Miss 
Ottley rode back alone. She did not beat about 
the bush at all. 

“ I want you to put your things on my donkey,” 
she said ; and slipping afoot, she stood in my path. 

“ Not to-day,” said I. 

But Fm in trouble, I need your help,” she mut- 
tered. 

“ With such a cavalier as Frankfort Weldon? ” I 
inquired. 

She coloured. 

“ And Dr. Belleville. Old friends both, I am led 
to fancy.” 

She bit her lips. 

“And both of them in love with you,” I went 
on bluntly. 

“ Dr. Pinsent,” said Miss Ottley, “ it is my 
opinion that my father is not quite right in his 
mind.” 

“ Dr. Belleville is a F. R. C. S.,” said I. 

“ I am afraid of him — my own father,” she said, 
in a tragic tone. “ I have a feeling that he hates 
me, that he wants to — ^to destroy me.” 

“ Captain Weldon would lay down his life for 
you, I think,” said I. 

She put a hand on my breast and looked me 
straight in the eye. “ I could not tell this to Dr. 
Belleville, nor to the other,” she half whispered. 

I thrilled all over. “All right,” I said, cheerily. 


74 THE LIVING MUMMY 

Just stand aside till I load your little beastie, will 
you?” 

Her whole face lighted up. “Ah! I knew you 
would not desert me,” she said. 

But we did not speak again all the way to the 
Hill of Rakh. We were too busy thinking; the 
two of us. When we arrived she flitted off, still 
silent. Captain Weldon came to me. “ I want 
you to share my tent,” said he. “I have a tub for 
you in waiting, and some fresh linen laid out, if 
you’ll honour me by wearing it.” 

“You are a brick,” I replied, and took his arm'. 
But at the door of the biggest tent in the whole 
camp to which he brought me I paused in wonder. 
It was a sort of lady’s bower within. The floor 
was laid with rugs, and the sloped canvas walls were 
hung with silken frills; and women’s photographs 
littered the fold-up dressing-table. They were all 
of the same face, though, those latter; the face of 
Miss Ottley. 

“ Sybarite ! ” I cried. 

He winced, then squared his shoulders. “ Well — 
perhaps so,” he said with a smile. 

“ But your gallery has only one goddess,” I com- 
mented, pointing to a picture. 

He gave a shame-faced little laugh. “ You see, 
Doctor, I have the happiness to be engaged to marry 
Miss Ottley,” he [explained. Then he left me to 
my tub. 


Chapter VIII 

Ottley Shows His Hand 

T he Captain’s linen he had laid out for 
my use on his damask-covered cot was 
composed of the very finest silk. Even 
the socks were silk. I was positively ashamed to 
draw my stained and work-worn outer garments 
over them ; and I thought, with a sigh, of my two 
decent suits of tweed lying, like the Dutchman’s 
anchor, far away — in a Cairo lodging-house, to be 
precise. I shaved with the Captain’s razor and 
wondered why I did not in the least mind resting 
indebted to his courtesy. The removal of my beard 
laid bare the weal the Captain’s whip had raised. 
Perhaps that was the reason. He came in just 
as I had finished and he saw the weal on instant. 
‘‘ I wish to the Lord you’d just blacken one of 
my eyes,” he said remorsefully. ‘‘ The sight of 
that makes me feel an out-and-out cad. Not ten 
minutes before it happened Miss Ottley had been 
telling me the angel of goodness you had been to 
her.” 

I sat down on the edge of the cot and grinned. 
“ It gives me quite a distinguished appearance,” I 
replied, and, say, didn’t it give me back my temper 
nicely, too.” 


75 


76 


THE LIVING MUMMY 


Little wonder you were wild/’ said he. “ But 
why didn’t you break me up while you were about 
it? You could have, easily enough. Lord! how big 
and strong you are.” 

“And ugly,” I supplemented. 

He flushed all over his face. “ You make me 
feel a silly girl-man by comparison,” he cried. “ A 
man ought to be ugly and strong-looking like you. 
I’d give half my fortune to possess that jaw.” 

“ What a boy it is 1 ” I said delightedly, for I 
was proud of my jaw, and I love flattery. 

“ I’m having a cot made now ; it will be put over 
there for you. You’ll share my diggings, won’t you? 
I want us to be friends,” beamed the Captain. 

There was something so ingenuous and charming 
in his frankness that I assented at once. 

“ It’s funny,” he said afterwards. “ But I de- 
tested you at first. Have a cigar. This box of Ca- 
banas is for you. They’re prime. I’ve more in my 
kit when they are finished. Lie down and rest 
while you smoke one, won’t you? Lunch won’t be 
ready for an hour yet, and you must be fagged.” 

I wasn’t a bit, but I lay back and puffed a mouth- 
ful of delicious smoke with a long-drawn sigh of 
luxury. 

“ You needn’t talk. Miss Ottley says you don’t 
like talking,” said the Captain. He lit a cigar and sat 
down on his kit box. “ I’m a real gabbler, though,” 
he confessed. “ Do you mind ? ” 

“ No, fire away, sonny! ” 


OTTLEY SHOWS HIS HAND 77 

He fired. It was all about himself and Miss Ott- 
ley: how they had been brought up together, pre- 
destined sweethearts: how they had quarrelled and 
made up and quarrelled again : how really and truly 
in their hearts they adored each other: and how — 
if it had not been for the girl’s intense devotion for 
her father, they would have been married long ago. 
He characterised Sir Robert as an extremely selfish 
man, who, ever since his wife’s death, had used his 
daughter as a servant and secretary because he could 
get no other to serve him as well and intelligently. 

But he doesn’t really care for her a straw,” con- 
cluded the Captain. ‘‘ And he would sacrifice her 
without remorse to his beastly mummy hobby for 
ever if I’d let him. But I won’t. I’m going to put 
my foot down presently. I’ve waited long enough. 
He has done nothing but drag her all over Europe 
translating papyri for him for the last six years. 
And she has worked for him like a slave. It’s high 
time she had a little peace and happiness.” 

“ Translating papyri,” I repeated. “ A scholar, 
then?” 

“ Between ourselves,” replied the Captain, Sir 
Robert’s fame as a scholar and an Egyptologist 
rests entirely upon his daughter’s labours. Without 
her he would be unknown. She did all the real 
work. He reaped the credit. She is three times 
the scholar he is, and I know a Frenchman who 
regards her knowledge of cuneiform as simply 
marvellous. He is a professor of ancient Ian- 


78 THE LIVING MUMMY 

guages, too, at the Sorbonne, so he ought to 
know.” 

“ Queer she never mentioned a word of it to 
me,” said 1. 

‘‘ Oh ! ” cried the Captain, “ she is the modestest, 
sweetest creature in the universe. I sometimes think 
she is positively ashamed of her extraordinary abil- 
ity. Whenever I speak of it she apologises — and 
says she only learned the things she knows to be a 
help to her dear old father. Dear old father, indeed ! 
The selfish old swine ought to be suppressed. He 
loathes me because he fears I’ll persuade her to 
leave him. If she wasn’t so useful she could go to 
the deuce for all he’d care. But it’s got to end 
soon or I’ll know the reason why. Don’t you think 
I’m right? We’ve been engaged now seven years.” 
I consider you a model of patience,” I replied. 

“ Besides,” said the Captain, starting off on a 
new tack, “ the old man is positively uncanny. It’s 
my belief he has an underhanded motive in his love 
for mummies, especially for his latest find, this 
Ptahmes. He’s a spook-hunter, you know — and he 
told me one day in an unguarded moment that he 
expected to live a thousand years.” 

“ What’s a spook-hunter, Captain ? ” 

Oh ! I mean a spiritualist. He has a medium 
chap, he keeps in London — a rascally beggar who 
bleeds thousands a year out of him. They have 
seances. The medium scamp pretends to go into 
a trance and tells him all sorts of rubbish about 


OTTLEY SHOWS HIS HAND 79 

the Nile kings and prophets and wizards and magi- 
cians and the elixir of life. It is dashed unpleasant 
for me, I can tell you. There’s always some wild 
yarn going round the clubs. And as I’m known to 
be Ottley’s prospective son-in-law, I have the life 
chaffed out of me in consequence. The latest was 
that the medium chap — Oscar Neitenstein is his 
name — ^put Ottley in the way of finding an old The- 
ban prophet’s tomb — this very Ptahmes, don’t you 
know. And though he has been underground 4000 
years, Neitenstein has fooled Ottley into expecting 
to find the prophet still alive. It’s too idiotic to 
speak seriously about, of course ; but on my honour 
the yarn drove me out of England. It got into the 
comic papers. Ugh! you know what that means. 
But I’m not sorry in one way. So I’ve come here 
to have it out with Ottley. And I’m going to— by 
Gad.” 

“ You haven’t spoken to him yet ? ” 

I have, but he treated me like a kid. Told me 
to run away and play and allow serious people to 
work. I stormed a bit, but it was no use. It made 
him so angry that he nearly took a fit — and I had 
to leave. Since then he has been shut up with his 
infernal mummy, in that cave temple over there — 
and he won’t even let his daughter go within yards 
of the door. That’s curious, isn’t it?” 

“ Very.” 

‘‘ And there’s that business about the mysterious 
Arab,” went on the Captain. The ugly horror 


80 THE LIVING MUMMY 

that tried to throttle you and has been frightening 
Miss Ottley. She thinks it’s a ghost. But I reckon 
not.” 

“Ah!” 

“ I reckon Sir Robert knows all about that Arab, 
though he pretends he does not know. In my 
opinion it’s another of those spook mediums of 
his, and he is keeping the ugly beast hidden away 
somewhere. Probably the fellow is some awful 
criminal who has got to hide. Sir Robert would 
shelter Hill or even that Australian wife-murderer 
Deeming if he said he was a medium.” 

“You extend my mental horizon,” I remarked. 
“The Arab mystery is clearing up.” 

The Captain simply beamed. “ So glad you catch 
on,” he said. “Do you know, I am depending 
heaps upon you in this business.” 

“ How?” 

The monosyllable disconcerted the Captain. He 
stuttered and hawed for a while. But, finally, he 
blurted out, “|Well, you see, she won’t leave her 
father under existing circumstances on any account, 
that’s the trouble. But I’m hoping if we can con- 
vince the old man he is being fooled by a pack of 
scoundrels he will return to his sober senses and live 
sensibly, and then ” he paused. 

“ And then — wedding bells,” I suggested. 

“ Exactly,” replied the Captain. “ And see here, 
I have a plan.” 

“Ah!” 


OTTLEY SHOWS HIS HAND 81 

“ It’s to lay for that Arab, as a first step— and 
catch the brute.” 

And what then? ” 

The Captain looked rather foolish. “ Well,” he 
said, well — oh I — ^we’d be guided by circumstances 
then, of course. We might induce him to confess 
' — don’t you think?” 

I could not help laughing. “If you want to 
know what I think,” I said, “ it is, that you are in 
the position of a man who knows what he wants 
but does not in the least understand how to get it. 
Still count on my help. If we can lay the Arab by 
the heels we shall not harm anyone deserving 
of consideration, and we will put Miss Ottley’s 
mind at rest, at all events; I hate to think that 
she is worried by the rascal. What do you pro- 
pose ? ” 

“I thought of hiding by the temple to-night. 
I passed it late last evening, and though Sir Robert 
was ostensibly alone, I could swear I heard voices. 
What do you say?” 

“ Certainly.” 

Shake,” said the Captain. We shook. “ Now 
let’s go to lunch,” said he. We went. 

“ That’s Belleville’s shanty,” observed the Cap- 
tain, pointing to a neighbouring tent. “ I don’t 
like the fellow, do you ? ” 

“ I don’t know him.” 

“ He’s a spook-hunter like Sir Robert.” 

“ Ah!” 


82 THE LIVING MUMMY 

** The beggar is in love with Miss Ottley.” 

‘‘ Oh!^^ 

“ He had the impudence to tell her to her face 
one day that she would never marry me. He de- 
clared that it was written — ^by spooks, I suppose. 
One of these days I'll have to break his head for 
him. But he is not a man you can easily quarrel 
with. You simply can't insult him. He comes up 
smiling every time." 

“ An unpleasant person." 

A bounder," said the Captain with intense con- 
viction. Lord, how hot it is ! " 

^We entered the eating tent as he spoke. The 
table was already laid. Dr. Belleville stood near 
the head of it talking to Miss Ottley. A couple of 
Soudanese flitted about affecting to be busy, but 
effecting very little. At sight of me both shud- 
dered back against the canvas and stood transfixed. 
One held a spoon, the other a plate. They looked 
extremely absurd. I told them in Arabic that only 
the dishonest had occasion to fear the evil eye, and 
took a seat. Instantly both rushed to serve me. 
My companions, not possessing the evil eye, were 
forced to wait. Miss Ottley became satirical, but 
I was hungry and her shafts glanced off the armour 
of my appetite. .When I had finished my first help- 
ing of currie she sat down. “ There's no use wait- 
ing for father," she sighed. “ I shall take his lunch 
to him by-and-by." 

Dr. Belleville echoed the sigh. My dear young 


OTTLEY SHOWS HIS HAND 83 


lady/’ said he, “ permit me now,” and he vanished 
a minute later carrying a tray. 

‘‘ You see,” said the Captain, sotto voce, to me. 

“ More currie,” I said, addressing, not the Cap- 
tain, but the tent. Immediately one of the Souda- 
nese slipped and sprawled on the floor in his eager- 
ness to serve. The other leaped over his fellow’s 
prostrate body and whisked away my plate. He re- 
turned it loaded in about five seconds. Miss Ott- 
ley broke into a half-hysterical laugh. It kept up 
so long that at last I looked at her in surprise. She 
had a knife and fork before her, but nothing else; 
also the Captain. “ What is the matter ? ” I de- 
manded. 

“ Look,” she gurgled. Following her finger I 
turned and saw both Soudanese standing like statues 
behind me. “Wretches,” I cried, “have you 
nothing else to do ? ” 

They uttered a joint howl of terror and fled from 
the tent. But the joke had staled. I took after 
them hot foot, caught them and drove them back 
to work, to find that my companions in the mean- 
while had helped themselves. Dr. Belleville, how- 
ever, entered a moment later, and at a nod from me 
the trembling Soudanese became his abject slaves. 

Dr. Belleville had something to say. “The ne- 
groes are frightened of you,” he began. 

“ They fancy I have the evil eye.” 

“ Humph ! ” cried the Doctor. “ Talk German 
— they understand English. It’s not that.” 


84 


THE LIVING MUMMY 


What then?” 

“ Sir Robert Ottley sent one of them to you — 
with a message — last night. He returned this 
morning with three ribs broken. He is lying in the 
hospital tent now — in a high fever.” 

‘‘ A tall, thin man — the eyes set far apart in the 
skull ? ” I asked. 

Dr. Belleville shook his head. ‘‘No. Short, 
thick-set, snub-featured, but a giant in strength.” 

“ How did he explain his accident ? ” 

“ That unwittingly he angered you.” 

“ The man is a liar,” I declared indignantly. “ I 
had a set-to with a skulking rogue last night. That 
is true enough. But the fellow I encountered and 
threw was taller than myself.” 

The Doctor shrugged his shoulders. “ It was a 
dark night, I believe.” Then a minute later — 
‘‘ Ottley is much annoyed. This Meeraschi was an 
excellent subject Ottley was experimenting with 
him.” 

“ How?” 

“ Hypnotically.” 

I glanced at the others, but they were talking 
apart 

“ Ottley sent me a message?” I asked, returning 
to the Doctor. 

“ Yes,” replied Belleville between mouthfuls. He 
was gulping down his lunch like a wolf in a hurry. 
“ He wants you,” he went on. 

“ Needless to say I received no message.” 


OTTLEY SHOWS HIS HAND 85 


“Needless?” repeated Belleville. “And you 
here?” 

The tone was so insulting that I arose and walked 
quietly out of the tent. The sun was blazing hot. 
I thought of the cool cave temple and wandered to- 
wards it. Why not see Sir Robert at once? Why 
not, indeed. Two black sentinels guarded the mid- 
dle pylon, skulking in the shadow of a column. 
When I approached they stood bolt upright. They 
were armed with rifles. They barred the way. 

“ Ottley ! ” I shouted. “ Ottley ! ” and once again 
“ Ottley!” 

At the third the little baronef s face appeared in 
the stone doorway. 

“ Oh ! Pinsent,” he said, and stared at me. I 
read doubt in his glance, some fear and anger and 
uneasiness. But there was much else I could not 
read. His skin was as yellow as old parchment, 
and he did not look a well man by any means. 

“ It is roasting — ^here,” I observed. 

He swallowed audibly, as a woman does recov- 
ering from tears. “ Ah, well,” he said. “ Come in 
—here.” 

The blacks vastly relieved, it appeared, lowered 
their arms and gave me passage. Sir Robert, how- 
ever, still blocked the door. I traversed the pylon 
and stood before him. “We can talk here,” said he. 

But I had no mind to be treated like that. I 
looked him in the face and talked to him like this: 
“ I am not welcome. I can see it. But it matters 


86 


THE LIVING MUMMY 


nothing to me. I have rights. I gave you back 
your life. You made me a promise. You broke 
your promise. That relieves me of any need to be 
conventional. I am curious. I intend to satisfy 
my curiosity. Invite me into the cavern and show 
me what you have there to be seen. Or I shall 
put you aside and help myself. I can do so. Your 
blacks do not frighten me, armed or unarmed. As 
for you, pouf! Now choose!” 

“ Dr. Pinsent,” said Sir Robert. (He was shak- 
ing like an aspen.) In about ten minutes my 
dragoman is setting out for Cairo. If you will 
be good enough to bear him company he will hand 
you at the end of the journey my cheque for a 
thousand pounds.” 

“ I ought to have told you,” I murmured, “ that 
it is a point of honour with me to keep my word.” 

“ Two thousand,” said Sir Robert. 

“At all costs,” said I. 

“ Five thousand ! ” he cried. 

“ You rich little cad ! ” I growled, and looked into 
the muzzle of a revolver. 

Sir Robert’s eyes, seen across the sights, glittered 
like a maniac’s. “ Go away ! ” he whispered. “ Go 


I thought of an old, old policeman trick and as- 
sumed an expression of sudden horror. “ Take 
care,” I cried. “ Look out — ^he will get you.” 

The baronet swung around, gasping and ghastly. 
In a second I had him by the wrist. 


OTTLEY SHOWS HIS HAND 87 

What was it ? ” he almost shrieked. 

“ A policeman’s trick,” I answered coldly, and 
disarmed him. 

“ Curse you ! Curse you ! ” he howled, and dou- 
bling his fists, he rushed at me, calling on his blacks 
the while. The latter gave me momentary trouble. 
But it was soon over. I propped them up like lay 
figures against the columns, facing each other, after- 
wards, and extracted the charges from their guns. 
Looking over the sand, I saw Miss Ottley and Dr. 
Belleville and the Captain walking under umbrel- 
las towards the tanks. I felt glad not to have dis- 
turbed them. Sir Robert had disappeared within 
the cavern. I followed him. He had put on a large 
masque which entirely covered his face, and he was 
fumbling with the screw stopper of a huge glass 
jar at the farthest corner of the cavern. The sar- 
cophagus had been overturned. It now rested in 
the centre of the cavern, bottom upwards. And on 
the flat, leaden surface of the bottom was stretched 
out, stiff and stark, the naked body of a tall, brown- 
skinned man. The body glistened as if it had been 
rubbed with oil. It was almost fleshless, but sinews 
and tendons stood out everywhere like tightened 
cords. One might almost have taken it for a 
mummy. It had, however, an appearance of life — 
or rather, of suspended animation, for it did not 
move. I wondered and stepped closer to examine 
it. I looked at the face, and recognised the Arab 
who had attacked me on the previous night, the 


88 THE LIVING MUMMY 

Arab who had frightened Miss Ottley and myself 
more than once. His mouth was tight shut; his 
eyes were!, however, open slightly. He did not 
seem to breathe. I put my finger on his cheek, and 
pressed. The flesh did not yield. I ran my eyes 
down his frame and uttered a cry. Three of his 
ribs were broken. Then I felt his pulse; it was 
still. The wrist was as rigid as steel — the arm, 
too — nay, the whole man. “ He is dead,” I ex- 
claimed at last, and looked at Sir Robert. The 
little baronet was re-stoppering the glass jar, but 
he held a glass in one hand half filled with some 
sort of liquid. Presently he approached me — ^but 
most marvellously slowly. 

“ This man is dead,” I said to him. ‘‘ He at- 
tacked me last night. I threw him and perhaps 
broke his ribs. But I did not kill him, for he fled. 
How comes it he is dead ? ” 

Sir Robert, for answer, threw at my feet the con- 
tents of the jar. Then I understood why he wore 
the masque. The cavern was filled with the fumes 
of the deadly perfume of the sarcophagus on in- 
stant. One sniff and my senses were rocking. I 
held my breath, but in spite of that the cavern swung 
round me with vertiginous rapidity. 

It seemed best to retire. I did so, but how I 
hardly know. Somehow or another I reached the 
pylon, passed the blacks and stepped upon the sand. 
About fifty paces off I saw a beautiful grove of 
palm trees suddenly spring up out of the desert. 



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OTTLEY SHOWS HIS HAND 89 


Such magic was most astonishing. I said to my- 
self, ‘‘ They cannot be real, of course. I am merely 
imagining them.” But their shade was so deli- 
ciously inviting that I simply had to accept its chal- 
lenge. I entered the grove and sat down beside a 
little purling stream of crystal water. It was very 
pleasant to dip my hands in it. Presently a lovely 
Naiad rose up out of the pool, seized my hands and 
pressed them to her lips. That was pleasant, too. 
Then she came and sat quite near me on the banks 
of the rill and drew my head upon her lap and 
stroked cool fingers through my hair, crooning a 
tender love song all the while. That was pleasant- 
est of all. But her crooning made me drowsy. 
Like the Lorelei's song, it charmed away my senses, 
and I slept. 


Chapter IX 
A Cool Defiance 

O F course, I had swooned, and equally, of 
course, not on the bank of a rivulet and 
under the cool shade of palm trees, but 
in the full blaze of the mid-day sun and on the 
smooth, unprotected burning surface of the desert. 
It was the accursed sarcophagus perfume that had 
worked the mischief. Fortunately Miss Ottley saw 
me fall; otherwise I might have had a sunstroke. 
Belleville and the Captain carried me between them 
to the shade of one of the pylons, and Belleville 
opened a vein in my left arm — a proceeding I am 
prevented from commenting on by considerations 
of professional etiquette. Happily, I recovered con- 
sciousness in time to save a little of my precious 
blood. I told Belleville my opinion of him in one 
comprehensive scowl, which he interpreted cor- 
rectly, I am glad to say, and then got up. I ban- 
daged my arm myself and made off for the Cap- 
tain's tent. That gentleman followed me. There 
arrived, I cast myself upon the cot and swore at 
ease. Weldon listened in spellbound admiration. 
He afterwards assured me that he had never before 
encountered such proficient fluency in objurgation 

90 


A COOL DEFIANCE 91 

and invective. I was madder than a hatter, and the 
more because I was as weak as a cat, and I wanted 
to be strong, with all my soul. Yet, five days passed 
before I felt well enough to be able to attack the 
task in front of me. Meanwhile, I told the Captain 
very little and Miss Ottley nothing. How could I 
let her know I knew her father to be a confounded 
old rascal? She was very good. She visited me 
every day and spent hours reading aloud by my bed- 
side, while the Captain and I watched her face and 
thought much the same thoughts; though I took 
care, for my own part, not to let my features re- 
flect the fatuous devotion of the Captain’s. On the 
sixth morning I found I could lift that young man 
shoulder-high with one hand without wanting to 
sit down and pant afterwards, so I got up. It was 
just after daylight. The Captain wanted to ac- 
company me, but I thought differently. He was 
annoyed, but I let him watch me from the tent flap. 
I found Sir Robert talking to Dr. Belleville at the 
door of the cave temple. His greeting was quite 
affectionate. ‘‘ So glad you are better again, my 
dear young friend,” he said, and he warmly invited 
me into the chamber. It was almost empty. The 
jar of perfume had gone; the sarcophagus had dis- 
appeared. It contained only a table and a cot. ‘‘ Sit 
down,” said Sir Robert. 

“ Where is the sarcophagus ? ” I demanded. 

The old rascal grinned. “ I had it quietly trans- 
ferred last night on a truck to a punt,” he replied, 


92 THE LIVING MUMMY 

while you were enjoying your beauty sleep. Dr. 
Belleville and I have not been to bed at all. It is now 
on the road to Cairo — and England.” 

I sat down on the cot. “ And the dead Arab ? ” 
I questioned. 

Dr. Belleville choked back a laugh. Sir Robert 
smiled. 

“ The dead Arab you saw was the mortal casket 
of Ptahmes,” said he. “ I am not surprised at your 
mistake. The body is in a perfect state of preserva- 
tion. It is not a mummy in any sense of the ex- 
pression. I regret very much that your sudden in- 
disposition prevented you from examining it closely 
and me from explaining the circumstances of its 
preservation and discovery on the spot. However, 
I can tell you this much now. We found it steeped 
in an essential oil which an hermetic process had 
defended from evaporation. The oil began to evap- 
orate immediately it was exposed to the air: but I 
contrived to save a certain quantity with which, 
later, I purpose to experiment in London. The 
Egyptian authorities have been very good to me. 
They have given me all necessary powers to deal 
with my discovery as I please. I tell you this lest 
professional jealousy should lead you to attempt 
any interference with my actions.” 

‘‘ In plain words, Sir Robert, you wish me to 
understand that your discovery is for you and not 
for the world.” 

“ Hardly that, my dear Pinsent. Merely that I 


A COOL DEFIANCE 


93 


propose to choose my own time for taking the 
world into my confidence — and that of Dr. Belle- 
ville,” he added, bowing to his friend. 

‘‘ An unusual course for a professed scientist to 
adopt.” 

“ I have very little sympathy with convention- 
ality,” cooed Sir Robert. 

‘‘ And I,” said Belleville. 

“ The point of view of two burglars,” I observed. 
I scowled at Belleville. 

“ You shall be as rude as you please. You saved 
my life,” said Sir Robert. 

Dr. Belleville cleared his throat. “ Ahem — ^ 
Ahem,” said he, ‘‘ the discourtesy of the disap- 
pointed is — ahem — is a tribute to the merits of the 
more successful.” 

In my rage I descended to abuse. “You are a 
nasty old swindler,” I said to Sir Robert, “ but 
your grey hair protects you for the present. But, 
as for you, sir,” I turned to Belleville, “ you black 
bull-dog — if you dare so much as to open your lips 
to me again. I'll wring your flabby nose off.” 

The baronet turned scarlet; the Doctor went 
livid ; but neither of them said a word. 

I strode to the door intending to quit, but there 
rage mastered me again. I swung on heel and once 
more faced them. “ One word more,” I grated out ; 
“ you're not done with me yet, either of you. I’m 
a peaceful man by nature, but no man treads on my 
toes with impunity. Spiritualists or spirit-sum- 


94 THE LIVING MUMMY 

moners you are, I hear. Weldon calls you spook- 
hunters — a very proper term. You’ll need all the 
money you possess between you and all the spirits’ 
help you’ll buy from your rascal spirit-rappers to 
keep me from your trail. Looking for the elixir of 
life, I’m told. It will go hard if I don’t help you 
find it. The elixir of public ridicule, that I’ll turn 
upon you, will hand your names down to posterity. 
I’ll help you to that much immortality, at least, and 
gratis, too. Good-day to you ! ” 

“ Dr. Pinsent ! ” shouted Ottley. i 

I paused and glanced at him across my shoulder. 
He gazed at me with eyes that simply blazed. 

“ Be warned,” he hissed, ‘‘ if you value your life, 
let me and mine alone. I’ll send a cheque to your 
tent to-day; keep it, call quits, and I’m done with 
you. I owe you that consideration, but no more.” 

“ And suppose, on the other hand ” 

“ Cross me and you shall see. You sleep some- 
times, I suppose. My emissary will not always 
find you wakeful. He never sleeps.” 

‘‘Your rascal Arab!” I shouted. 

“ Pah ! ” he cried. 

“ Murderer, it was to you I owe that rough and 
tumble a week ago at my own camp in the desert.” 

“ To me,” he mumbled. “ To me. Whom else? 
My agents are spirits and invisible. They do not 
love you for despising them. They have tortures 
in reserve for you when you are dead and you, too, 
are a spirit. But I would be merciful — I shall send 


A COOL DEFIANCE 95 

you a cheque. Return it at your peril. Now go, 
go, go.” 

On a sudden I was cold as ice. The man was 
evidently insane. He seemed on the brink of a fit. 
He was frothing at the mouth. 

Softly, softly, Sir Robert,” I said soothingly. 
“ No need for excitement. Calm yourself; after all 
this is a business transaction.” 

Oh! ” he gasped, then broke into a wild laugh. 

A mere matter of price. I should have known it ; 
a Scotchman ! ” 

“ Exactly,” said I. “ And my price is a million. 
Good-morning.” 

The whole camp was astir. The negroes’ tents 
were all down and rolled. The mules and asses 
were being loaded heavily. Evidently Sir Robert 
was about to flit after the corpse of Ptahmes. I 
found Miss Ottley and the Captain talking over the 
apparent move. The girl was agitated. She had 
not been consulted. It was not a time to mince mat- 
ters. I told her frankly everything that had passed 
between her father and myself, and hardly had I 
finished, when she rushed off hot foot to visit him. 
The Captain went with her. I made a passably good 
breakfast. 


Chapter X 

The Capture of the Coffin 

A bout noon — I saw no one but blacks in 
the meanwhile — the Captain came with 
^ a letter. From Sir Robert — catch ! ” 
said he. I tore it open. A single sheet of note 
enclosed a cheque signed in blank. Dear Dr. 
Pinsent/^ ran the letter. ‘‘ You will find that my 
signature will be honoured for any sum it may please 
you to put upon my life in your esteem. Permrt 
me to express a hope that you will not hurt my 
vanity in your selection of numerals. 

“ Sincerely yours, Robert Ottley.” 

I handed the note to ^Weldon. He read it and 
whistled loud and long. 

“ You might beggar him! ” he cried. “ The man 
is stark mad.” 

Either that or he has made a truly wonderful 
discovery,” I rejoined. ‘‘ And there is Belleville 
to consider. That man, I fancy, is a rascal — ^but 
also a sane one.” 

“ It has me beat,” said the handsome Captain. 
‘‘ The whole thing from start to finish. Ottley 
is up there now spooning his daughter like a lover. 
He was as sweet as pie to me, too. I feel like a 
stranded jelly-fish. What will you do?” 

96 


CAPTURE OF THE COFFIN 97 

I enclosed the cheque in a blank cover, sealed it 
and gave it to the Captain. 

“ Will you be my courier ? ” 

‘‘ Of course,” said he, and swung off. 

He returned at the end of my third cigar, with a 
second letter. It ran, “ My dear young friend. 
Your refusal has deeply pained me. The more, be- 
cause it deprives me of the pleasure of your com- 
pany on the road to Cairo. I beg you, nevertheless, 
to choose from my stores all that you may require 
that may serve you during your continued sojourn 
at Rakh. We start at sunset for the Nile and north. 

Ever yours attachedly, 

R. Ottley.” 

When the Captain had mastered this precious 
effusion, he collapsed upon a stool. “ He intends 
to leave you here alone in the desert. It’s — it’s 
marooning, nothing less ! ” he gasped. 

I lighted a fourth cigar and lay back thinking 
hard. In ten minutes I had made up my mind. I 
sat up. The Captain was anxiously watching me. 
“ See here, my lad,” I said, “ in that bundle yon- 
der is the manuscript of a book I have been working 
hard upon for three years and more. It is the very 
heart of me. Take good care of it. One of these 
days — if I live — I’ll call for it at your diggings in 
London. I have your address in my notebook.” 

“ Oh ! Oh ! Oh ! ” said the Captain. “ B ut 
what’s the game ? ” 

‘‘ Diamond cut diamond, I’m going a journey. 


98 


THE LIVING MUMMY 


But ril say no more. Mad or sane, you are eating 
Ottley’s salt, and are beholden to him for his pater- 
nity of the exceptionally gifted young woman you 
propose to marry. Good-bye to you.” 

I held out my hand. He sprang up and wrung 
it hard. ‘‘You are sure you are doing right?” 
he asked. 

I filled my pockets with his cigars. “ I am sure 
of nothing,” I replied, as I did so, “ except this — I 
have been abominably ill-used by a man who under 
Heaven owes his life to me — and this — I resent it.” 

I put on my helmet, nodded and left the tent. 

The Captain cried out, “ Good luck ! ” Five min- 
utes later I turned and waved my hand to him. He 
was still standing by the tent flap gazing after me. 
I thought to myself, “ He is as honest as he is 
good to look upon. He will make May Ottley a 
gallant husband.” I am a reasonably bad Christian, 
and quite as selfish as many worse, but somehow or 
another the reflection brought no aftermath of bitter- 
ness. The handsome, happy-hearted boy — ^he was 
little else for all his three and thirty years — ^had 
crept into my heart, and I felt somehow the cham- 
ber he occupied was next door to that wherein May 
Ottley’s visage was enshrined. But I had work to 
do; so I turned the key on both. The sun was so 
hideously hot that I was forced to hasten slowly. 
But I reached the Nile under two hours, and found, 
as I expected. Sir Robert Ottley ^s steam launch 
moored to the bank. Her smoking funnel had 


CAPTURE OF THE COFFIN 99 


been the beacon of my march. She was in charge 
of an old French pilot, a Turkish engineer, and 
four Levantines, piratical-looking stokers, mongrels 
all. I stalked aboard with an air of paramount 
authority. The Frenchman came forward, bowing. 
He wore a sort of uniform. ‘‘ Steam up. Captain ? ” 
I asked. 

“ Since morning, monsieur! ” he replied. 

“ Then kindly push off at once. I must overtake 
the punt that started last night without delay.” 

His mouth opened. “But monsieur,” he pro- 
tested, “I ” 

“ You waste time,” I interrupted. 

He rubbed his hands nervously together. “ But 
monsieur is unknown to me. I have my written 
orders from Sare Roberrrrt. Doubtless monsieur 
has authority. But monsieur vill perrceive ** 

“ That you are a punctilious old fool,” I retorted. 
“ Here is my authority ! ” What I showed him was 
a revolver. He jumped, I vow, two feet in the air, 
and hastily retreated. But I followed more quickly 
still, and forced him to the bridge. There he be- 
came very voluble, however; so much so, indeed, 
that I was constrained to cock my pistol. That set- 
tled him. He thundered out his orders and we were 
soon racing at ten knots an hour down stream. 
When rounding the nearest bend to the Hill of 
Rakh the temptation was very strong in me to sound 
the steamer’s whistle. But I am proud to say that 
I refrained. It would have been a little-minded 


100 THE LIVING MUMMY 


thing to do. About midnight, feeling weary, I ran 
the steamer’s nose gently into a mud bank, drove 
the captain down to the deck and locked him with 
the rest of the crew in the engine-house. Then I 
foraged round for eatables, made a hearty supper 
and snatched about five hours’ sleep. When morn- 
ing came I awoke as fresh and strong as a young 
colt. After bath and breakfast, I released my pris- 
oners, made them eat and then push off the bank. 
We lost an hour at that job, but, at length, it was 
accomplished, and our race for the punt recom- 
menced. We overhauled it about four o’clock the 
same afternoon. It was just an ordinary flat-bot- 
tomed Nile abomination, towed by a tiny, panting, 
puffing-billy, with twenty yards of good Manilla. 
Twelve Arabs squatted round the sarcophagus. 
Seated on the sarcophagus, under a double awning, 
was a burly-looking Englishman. He was smoking 
a pipe, and one look at his face told me exactly 
why he had been entrusted with Sir Robert Ott- 
ley’s priceless treasure. He was, as plain as day- 
light, a gentleman if one ever lived, a brave man, 
too, shrewd and self-reliant and as incorruptibly 
devoted to his duty as a bull-dog with a thief’s hand 
between his jaws. I wondered if I would get the 
better of him. As a first step towards that desider- 
atum, I assured the French captain that I entertained 
too much regard for him to put him to a lingering 
death should he disobey me. I had previously 
locked the rest of the crew in the engine-house. 


CAPTURE OF THE COFFIN 101 


Then we bore down on the punt and I shouted for 
the tug to be stopped. This was done. As it lost 
way, we nosed up, going easy until we were along- 
side the punt. Then I ordered half speed astern 
until we, too, were stationary. Some power of 
suction or attraction began immediately to draw 
the two crafts together. The tug, however, con- 
tinued to remain, say thirty feet off. The English- 
man ordered out rope fenders and asked me what 
the blazes I was doing. I answered that I had come 
after him from Sir Robert Ottley — which was in a 
sense perfectly true — and that he could hardly ex- 
pect me to shout out urgent private business be- 
fore listeners, which was also a reasonably vera- 
cious statement of the facts. The Englishman — I 
never learned his name — observed, with some heat, 
that he would not leave his charge for a second 
for any man living except Sir Robert Ottley; and 
that if I had something to tell him I must go aboard 
the punt. 

I said “ Very well,” and as the crafts touched I 
helped myself to the punt with a rope. 

‘VWell, what is it?” he demanded, and he eyed 
me most suspiciously, one hand in his breast. Doubt- 
less he had there a revolver. Had he been warned? 
And of me? It is a thing I have still my doubts 
about. But I looked him frankly in the eyes and 
told him the truth to the very best of my ability. 

“ It has lately come to Sir Robert Ottley’s 
knowledge,” I began, ‘‘that one of his guests — 


102 THE LIVING MUMMY 


a man named Pinsent ” (he started at the name) 
“has conceived a bold design of relieving you of 
this very charge of yours, which you are guarding 
with such praiseworthy solicitude.” 

“ Oh ! ” said the Englishman, “ and how would 
he go about it ? ” The idea appeared to tickle him. 
He laughed. 

“ He would follow you and attack you,” said I. 

The Englishman put his hands on his thighs and 
simply roared. “ He would have to swim after 
me,” he chuckled. “ There is not another launch 
save these two between here and Ham ! ” 

“I am honestly glad to hear it,” I replied, and, 
indeed, I was. 

“ It’s a mare’s nest,” declared the Englishman. 

“ Oh ! ” said I. “ This Pinsent is a desperate fel- 
low and resourceful. Do you know, he actually 
tried single-handed to seize that launch.” 

“ The Swallow! ” cried the Englishman. “ Im- 
possible.” 

“ On the contrary ! ” I retorted. “ He succeeded. 
He stands before you. My name is Pinsent. Per- 
mit me ! ” 

He was a trifle slow-witted, I fancy. He still 
looked puzzled, when his face emerged above the 
Nile water, after his dive. But I would not let 
him return to the punt. Immediately I discovered 
that the Arabs were only armed with knives. I had 
taken the trouble to throw overboard all the fire- 
arms that I could find on the Swallow; so I just 


CAPTURE OF THE COFFIN 103 

drove them aboard the launch and ordered the 
Frenchman to sheer off and return to Rakh. He 
was charmed at the permission. 

The Englishman fired at me twice from the water, 
but he had to keep himself afloat, so he naturally 
missed. When he was well-nigh drowned I hauled 
him up with a boat hook. It was easy to disarm 
him in that condition. I had intended to put him 
on the tug, but I waited too long. The tug cut 
the tow rope before my eyes and without so much 
as by your leave puffed after the Swallow. The 
Englishman and I were thus left lonely on the punt ; 
in middle stream. The current was fairly strong 
at that point and making towards a long, low- 
lying sweep of reedy flats. I had no mind to land 
there, however, so after tying up the Englishman 
neck and crop, I contrived to hoist a sail and steered 
for the opposite bank. 

The Englishman and I had nothing to say to 
each other. No doubt he recognised the futility 
of conversation in the circumstances; as for me, 
I never felt less inclined to talk. About five o’clock 
we grounded under the lee of a pretty little promon- 
tory. It was populated with crocodiles. Nice com- 
panions — at a distance — crocodiles — ^musky-smelling 
brutes. 


Chapter XI 

Good-bye to the Nile 

T he Englishman was evidently something 
of a gourmet. I found foie gras, camem- 
bert cheese, pressed sheep’s tongues and 
bottled British ale in his private locker. But he 
was as sullen as a sore-headed grizzly. He sourly 
declined to eat even though I offered to free his 
hands, and he strove to make my dinner unpleasant 
by volunteering pungent information on the pun- 
ishment provided by law for the crimes of piracy, 
robbery under arms, burglary, assault and battery, 
and false imprisonment. Those, it seems, were 
the titular heads of some of my delinquencies. He 
felt sure that I would get ten years’ hard labour, at 
least. I did not argue the point with him. After din- 
ner I examined the sarcophagus. The lid was fast- 
ened on with crosswise-running bands of hinged 
steel, padlocked in the centre. But it was, strange to 
say, wedged at one end with iron bolts about an inch 
ajar, as if on purpose to allow air to pass into the 
coffin. After a little search I discovered a tool- 
box in the shallow hold of the punt ; and I attacked 
the bands with cold chisels and a mallet. Ten min- 
utes’ work sufficed. I tossed the broken bands aside 

104 


GOOD-BYE TO THE NILE 105 


and levered off the lid. My heart beat like a trip- 
hammer as I looked into the coffin. I was prepared 
for a surprise. I received one. My Arab gazed up 
at me. The mysterious Arab with the three broken 
ribs, who had frightened Miss Ottley and tried 
to throttle me and whom I had last seen lying — 
a corpse — in the cave temple at Rakh. Of course, 
Sir Robert Ottley had declared the corpse in the 
temple to be identical with that of Ptahmes, the 
four thousand years dead High Priest of Amen- 
Ra. But that was ridiculous. I had only had time 
to make a cursory examination of the dead Arab in 
the cave temple, it is true, but I am a surgeon, and 
I had convinced myself that the fellow, so far from 
being a mummy, had not been long dead. I had 
yet to discover an essential error in my cave temple 
investigation. My very first impression had been 
not death, but suspended animation. And I must 
have been right. The later speedy diagnosis had, 
in sober truth, misled me. The man was not dead. 
It had been a case of suspended animation. The Arab 
lying in the sarcophagus before me was alive. His 
broken ribs were neatly set and bandaged. Other- 
wise he was swathed from head to foot in oiled rags. 
He was lying in an easy position on his back — upon 
a doubled feather tick. He was breathing softly 
but unmistakably. And he was awake. His ex- 
traordinary eyes — they were set fully five inches 
apart in his abnormally broad skull — were wide 
open and staring at me in a way to make the flesh 


106 THE LIVING MUMMY 


creep. They were horrible eyes. The whites were 
sepia-coloured, the pupils were yellowish, and the 
iris of each a different shade of black flecked with 
scarlet spots. His cone-shaped forehead was moist 
and glistening with oil or perspiration. His mouth 
was held open by two small rubber-tipped metal 
bars joined together, against which his teeth — great 
brown fangs — ^pressed with manifest spasmodic 
energy. 

Now what was Ottley^s purpose in taking such 
extraordinary pains to transport a living Arab in 
a dead man's coffln from Rakh to Cairo, and, per- 
haps, London? 

Perhaps the Arab could tell me. Burning with 
curiosity, I stooped down and took from his mouth 
the mechanical contrivances which held the jaws 
apart. The Arab uttered on the instant a deep, 
raucous sigh. His eyeballs rolled upwards and be- 
came fixed. He appeared to have fainted. I rushed 
away to procure some water. That water was in 
the hold. Seizing a dipper, I sprang down the steps, 
hurried to the cask and filled it. The whole busi- 
ness occupied only a few seconds. I certainly could 
not have been away from the deck half a minute, 
but when I returned the sarcophagus was empty. 
The Arab had disappeared. Utterly astounded, I 
gazed about me. Had the whole thing been a 
dream? It appeared so, but no — I caught sight of 
a tall, dark figure making off hot foot across the 
promontory. He had leaped ashore, a distance of 


GOOD-BYE TO THE NILE 107 

twelve feet or more, and was running’ towards the 
desert. In a second I was after him. I thought 
of the crocodiles while in mid air; but it was too 
late to turn back at that juncture. My feet landed 
in a patch of oozy sand. I scrambled out of it and 
up the slope among the reeds. A loud rustle and 
a stink of musk warned me of a saurian neighbour. 
I gave a mighty leap and cleared the reeds. Then 
I ran as I had never run before, for my Arab was 
in front, and a hungry monster came hard upon my 
heels. A log lay in my path. It was another croco- 
dile. I cleared it with a bound and gained the 
desert. I was hunted for some seconds, I believe, 
but I never looked back, so I do not know at what 
point the saurian gave up the chase. The Arab 
was a marvel. He had a lead of one hundred yards 
and he maintained it. He had three broken ribs 
and I was as sound as a bell. Yet, at the end of 
twenty minutes not his breath but mine gave out. 
I was forced to pause for a spell. He ran on. His 
lead doubled. Setting my teeth, I resumed the 
chase. But I might have spared myself the trouble. 
He gradually grew farther and farther away from 
me. I did my best, but at last I was compelled to 
admit myself beaten. The Arab’s tall form grew 
less and less distinguishable against the stars. Fi- 
nally it melted into the mists of the horizon. I 
was alone on the desert. I sat down to rest and 
took counsel with myself. I had turned pirate and 
committed, technically, a number of other atrocious 


108 THE LIVING MUMMY 


crimes for absolutely nothing*. Plainly I could not 
return to the punt. 

First of all, in order to reach it I should have 
to face the crocodiles. And even should I escape 
their jaws again, what could I do on the river? 
Sooner or later I should be caught. And I had a 
very strong suspicion that Sir Robert Ottley would 
not hesitate, once I was in his power, to plunge me 
into an Egyptian prison. He had evidence enough 
to get me a long term of hard labour, and I felt 
little doubt but that he would go to a lot of trouble 
for that, and con amore after the way that I had 
served him. It did not, therefore, take me long to 
resolve to risk the desert rather than rot in an 
Egyptian gaol. I had spilt a lot of milk. I was 
foodless, waterless, and Gods knows where. Also, 
I was as thirsty as a lime kiln. But no use crying. 
What to do? That was the question. For a start, 
I lay down and pressed my cheek against the 
ground. The horizon thus examined showed a 
faintly circled unbroken level line in all direc- 
tions except the northwest. There it was in- 
terrupted for a space by a mound that was 
either a cloud-bank or a grove of trees. It 
proved to be the latter. I found there water to 
drink and dates to eat. Next morning I took my 
bearings from the sun, and giving the river a wide 
berth I pressed on north for two days and nights 
on an empty stomach. Then I shot an ibis 
with my revolver in a reedy marsh and ate it raw. 


GOOD-BYE TO THE NILE 109 

Next day I climbed into the mountains and looked 
back on Assuan and Philae. But it is not my pur- 
pose to describe my wanderings minutely. It 
would take too long. Suffice it to say that I changed 
clothes with an Arab near Redesieh and en- 
tered Eonah dyed as a Nubian a week later, after 
crossing the river at El-Kab in a fisherman’s canoe. 
The Nile was still ringing with my doings, so I 
judged it best to proceed on foot to Luqsor. But 
there I got a job in a dahabeah that was conveying 
a party of French savants back from Elephantine to 
Abydos. I stayed with them three weeks, hearing 
much talk, meanwhile, of a certain rascally Scotch 
doctor named Pinsent. It was supposed he had 
perished in the desert. One day, however, hearing 
that Sir Robert Ottley, who had been lying at 
Thebes, had been seen at Lykopolis, I deserted from 
my employ, and walked back to Farschat. There 
I bought a passage on a store-boat and came by 
easy stages to Beni Hassan. Thence I tramped 
to Abu Girgeh, where I lay for a fortnight, ill of 
a wasting fever, in the house of a man I had for- 
merly befriended. A large reward had been of- 
fered for my arrest, but he was an Arab of the bet- 
ter sort. So far from betraying me to outraged 
justice, he cashed my cheque for a respectable 
amount and procured me a passage to Cairo on a 
river steamer. I entered the ancient city of Mem- 
phis one day at dusk, a wreck of my old self and as 
black as the ace of spades. Not daring to reclaim 


110 THE LIVING MUMMY 


my goods at my lodging-house, I proceeded forth- 
with to Alexandria with no wardrobe save the 
clothes upon my back, and so anxious was I to 
escape from Egypt that I shipped as stoker on a 
French steamer bound for Marseilles. I could find 
none that would take a negro as passenger. The 
dye pretty well wore off my face and hands during 
the voyage, but the circumstance only excited re- 
mark among the motley scum; of the stokehole, 
and I was permitted to land without dispute. 
Heavens! how beautiful it was to dress once more 
as a European, to eat European food, to sleep on 
a European bed, and not to be afraid to look a 
European in the face. In Europe I did not care 
a pin for Sir Robert Ottley and all that he could 
do to hurt me. In Egypt his money and influence 
would have left me helpless to resist him ; but I felt 
myself something more than his match in the centre 
of mddern civilisation. He had the law of me, 
of course, but I had a weapon to bring him to book. 
I could hold him up to public scorn and ridicule. 
Were he to prosecute me I could put him in the 
pillory as a wretch ungrateful for his life saved 
by my care and skill, a promise-breaker and some- 
thing of a lunatic. On the whole, I decided he 
would not venture to put me in the dock. And 
so sure did I feel on that head that I proceeded to 
London as fast as steam could carry me. 


Chapter XII 
The Meeting 

W HENEVER in London my practice for 
years had been to put up at my friend 
Dixon Hubbard’s rooms in Bruton 
Street. We had been schoolfellows. He was one of 
the most fortunate and unfortunate creatures in the 
world. Born with a silver spoon in his mouth, he 
had inherited from some cross-grained ancestor a 
biting tongue and a gloomy disposition. He was an 
incurable misanthrope and unpopular beyond words. 
At college he had been detested. Being a sickly 
lad, his tongue had earned him many a thrashing 
which he had had to endure without other Reprisal 
than sarcasm. Yet he had never spared that. His 
spirit was unconquerable. I believe that he would 
have taunted his executioners while they burned 
him at the stake. I used to hate him myself once. 
But one day after giving him a fairly good ham- 
mering I fell so in love with the manly way in which 
he immediately thereafter gave me a sound excuse 
for wringing his neck that I begged his pardon for 
being a hulking bully in having lifted hand 
against a weaker body but a keener brain and more 
111 


112 THE LIVING MUMMY 

untamable spirit than my own. That conquered 
him. From that moment we were inseparable 
chums, and on an average the privilege cost me at 
least two hard fights a week, for my code was hit 
my chum and you hit me. His gratitude lay in 
jibing at me if I lost the fight, and if I won inform- 
ing me that I was a fool for my pains. But we un- 
derstood each other, and our friendship bravely with- 
stood the test of time and circumstance. I found 
him nursing an attack of splenitic rheumatism 
before a fire in his study, and we were still only in 
the middle of July. His man, Miller, had just 
broken a Sevres vase, and Hubbard was telling 
Miller in a gentle, measured way his views of 
clumsiness in serving-men. Miller — a meek, dog- 
like creature usually — stood before his master glow- 
ing but inarticulate with rage. His fists were 
clenched and his lips were drawn back from his 
teeth. Hubbard was evidently enjoying himself. 
He watched the effect of his placid exhortation 
with a sweet smile — and he applied his mordant 
softly uttered gibes with the pride of a sculptor 
at work upon an image. Each one produced some 
trifling but significant change in Miller’s expression. 
Probably Hubbard was experimenting — seeking to 
discover either how far he could go with safety or 
exactly what it would be necessary to say in order 
to make Miller spring at his throat They were both 
so engrossed that I entered without disturbing them. 
I listened for a moment and then created a diver- 


THE MEETING 


113 


sion. Miller’s tension was positively dangerous. I 
walked over, took him by the collar and propelled 
him from the room. You’ll find my bag down- 
stairs,” I said. I’ve come to stay.” 

Miller gave me the look of a dog that wants but 
does not dare to lick your hand. His gratitude was 
pathetic. I shut the door in his face. 

Hubbard did not rise. He did not even offer to 
shake hands. He half closed his eyes and mur- 
mured in a tired voice : The bad penny is back 

again, and uglier than ever.” 

I crossed the room and threw open a window. 
Then I marched into his bedroom, seized a water 
jug, returned and put out the fire. 

‘‘ You’ve been coddling yourself too long,” I 
remarked. Get up and put on your hat. It’s 
almost one. You are going to lunch with me at 
Verrey’s.” 

I have a stiff leg,” he remonstrated. 

‘‘Fancy! Mere fancy,” I returned. 

The room was full of steam and smoke. Hub- 
bard said a wicked thing and got afoot, coughing. 
I found his hat, crammed it on his skull and crooked 
my arm in his. He declined to budge and wagged 
a blistering tongue, but I laughed and, picking him 
up, I carried him bodily downstairs to a cab. He 
called me forty sorts of cowardly bully in his gentle 
sweetly courteous tones, but before two blocks were 
passed his ill-humour had evaporated. He remem- 
bered he had news to give me. We had not met 


114 THE LIVING MUMMY 

for eighteen months. Of a sudden he stopped be- 
shrewing me and leaned back in the cushions. I 
knew his ways and talked about the weather. He 
endured it until we were seated within the grill- 
room. Then he begged me very civilly to let God 
manage His own affairs. 

** I am very willing,” I said. 

He impaled an oyster on a fork and sniffed at it 
with brutal indifference to the waiter’s feelings. 
Satisfied it was a good oyster, he swallowed it. 

“ I am no longer a bachelor,” said he. “ I have 
taken unto myself a wife.” 

‘‘ The deuce ! ” I cried. 

“ Exactly,” he said. But the prettiest imp 
imaginable.” 

“ My dear Hubbard, I assure you ” 

“My dear Pinsent, you have blundered on the 
truth.” 

“ But 

He held up a warning finger. “ It occurred a year 
ago. We lived together for six weeks. Then we 
compromised. I gave her my house in Park Lane 
and returned myself to Bruton Street. Pish ! man, 
don’t look so shocked. Helen and I are friends — 
I see her once a week now at least, sometimes more 
often. I assure you I enjoy her conversation. She 
has a natural genius for gossip and uses all her 
opportunities. She has already become a fixed star 
in the firmament of society’s smartest set and aspires 
to found a new solar system. I allow her fifteen 


THE MEETING 


115 


thousand pounds a year. She spends twenty. My 
compensation is that I am never at a loss for a 
subject of reflection. We shall call on her this 
afternoon. A devil, but diverting. You will be 
amused.” 

“ Do I know her, Hubbard ? ” 

*‘No; you are merely acquainted. Her maiden 
name was Arbuthnot.” 

“ Lady Helen Arbuthnot ! ” I cried. 

He smiled and shrugged his shoulders. ‘‘You 
will find her changed. Marriage has developed her. 
I remember before you went away — was it to Egypt ? 
— she tried her blandishments on you. But then she 
was a mere apprentice. Heaven help you now — if 
she marks you for her victim.” 

“ Poor wretch ! ” I commented. “ I suppose you 
can’t help it. But you ought to make an effort, 
Hubbard, really.” 

“ An effort. What for? ” 

“To conceal how crudely in love with your wife 
you are.” 

He bit his lips and frowned. “ Children and fools 
speak the truth,” he murmured. Then he set to 
work on the champagne and drank much more than 
was good for him. The wine, however, only af- 
fected his appearance. It brought a flush to his 
pallid cheeks and made his dull eyes sparkle. He 
deluged me with politics till three o’clock. Then we 
drove to Park Lane. Lady Helen kept us waiting 
for twenty minutes. In the meantime, two other 


116 THE LIVING MUMMY 

callers joined us. Men. In order to show himself 
at home Hubbard smoked a cigarette. The men 
looked pensively appalled. They were poets. They 
wore long hair and exotic gardens in their button- 
holes. And they rolled their eyes. They must have 
been poets. Also they carried bouquets. Certainly 
they were poets. AVhen Lady Helen entered they 
surged up to her, uttering little artistic foreign cries. 
And they kissed her hand. She gave their bouquets 
to the footman with an air of fascinating disdain. 
Their dejection was delightful. But she consoled 
them with a smile and advanced to us. Certainly 
she had changed. I had known her as a somewhat 
unconventional and piquant debutante. She was 
now a brilliant siren, an accomplished coquette and 
a woman of the world. Her tiny stature made her 
attractive, for she was perfectly proportioned and 
her costume ravishingly emphasised the petite and 
dainty grace of her figure. Her face was reminis- 
cent of one of those wild flowers of torrid regions 
which resemble nothing grown in an English gar- 
den, but which, nevertheless, arrest attention and 
charm by their bizarrerie. It was full of eerie wis- 
dom, subtle wilfulness and quaint, half-humorous 
diablerie. In one word, she was a sprite. She 
greeted her husband with an unctuous affectation of 
interest which would have made me, in his place, 
wish to box her ears. Hubbard, however, was as 
good an actor as herself. He protested he was grate- 
ful for the audience and claimed credit for intro- 


THE MEETING 117 

ducing me. Lady Helen looked me up and down 
and remembered that I had owed her a letter for 
nearly thirty-seven months. She gave me the tips 
of her fingers and then rushed away to kiss on both 
cheeks a lady who had just entered. “Oh, you 
darling!’’ she twittered. “This is just too lovely 
of you. I have longed for you to come.” 

It was May Ottley. She did not see me at once. 
Lady Helen utterly engrossed her. I had, therefore, 
time to recover from the unexpected shock of her 
appearance. I was ridiculously agitated. I slipped 
into an alcove and picked up a book of plates. At 
first my hands shook so that I could hardly turn the 
pages. Hubbard glided to my side. I felt his smile 
without seeing it. “I smell a brother idiot,” he 
whispered. 

I met his eyes and nodded. 

“In Efeypt, of course?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ She marries a guardsman next month, I hear.” 

“ Indeed.” 

“ The poor man,” murmured Hubbard. “ Come 
out and let us drink his health.” 

“ No, thank you.” 

“You’d rather stay and singe your wings, poor 
moth.” 

“And you?” 

“ Mine,” said he, “ were amputated in St. James 
Church. She is a lovely creature, Pinsent.” 

“ Which?” 


118 THE LIVING MUMMY 


He chuckled without replying. A footman pom- 
pously announced : Mrs. Carr — Lord Edward 
Dutton.’’ 

“ Bring the tea, please,” said Lady Helen’s voice. 

** She is staring this way at you,” murmured 
Hubbard. ‘‘She recognises your back. No, not 
quite, she is puzzled.” 

“ She has never seen me in civilised apparel,” I 
explained. 

“ Are you afraid of her, my boy ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“Well, you are honest.” 

I began to listen for her voice. The air was filled 
with scraps of conversation. 

“ Three thousand, I tell you. He cannot go on 
like that. Shouldn’t wonder if he went abroad. 
Like father, like son. Old Ranger had the same pas- 
sion for bridge.” 

“ You can say what you like, names tell one noth- 
ing. In my opinion the man is a Jew. What if he 
does call himself Fortescue? Consider his nose. 
I am tired of these rich colonials. I have no time 
for them. Heaven knows what they are after.” 

“ She will spoil her lower register completely if 
she keeps on. Her voice is a mezzo and nothing 
else. You should have seen the way old Delman 
sneered when he listened to her last night.” 

“ My test of a really fine soprano is the creepy 
feeling the high C gives one in the small of the 
back. Delicious. She never thrills me at all.” 


THE MEETING 


119 


“ Oh ! Lord Edward, how malicious. What has 
the poor man done to you? 

“ He plays billiards too well to have been any- 
thing but a marker in his youth. I believe he kept a 
saloon somewhere in the States.” 

“ They say it will end in the divorce court. That 
is what comes of marrying a milkmaid. And, after 
all, she did not present him with a son. Ah, well, 
it’s an ill wind that blows nobody any good. Young 
Carnarvon is his heir still, and his chances of suc- 
ceeding grow rosier every day.” 

** My dear Mrs. Belvigne, if it was not for her 
red hair, she would be as commonplace as — as my 
dear friend Mrs. Sorenson. What you men see in 
red hair ” 

** Conscience, Lady Helen, is a composition of 
indulgences. It is a marriage de convenance be- 
tween the conventional instinct and the appetite.” 

Dr. Pinsent,” said Miss Ottley, “ is it really 
you?” 

I turned and looked into her eyes. They were 
all aglow and her cheeks were suffused with colour. 
She gave me both her hands. The room was already 
crowded. People entered every minute. Hubbard 
pointed significantly at the tea-cups. Miss Ottley 
and I drifted to the divan. We watched the crowd 
through the parted curtains, sipping our tea. We 
might as well have been in a box at the theatre 
watching the play. 

“I knew you would escape,” she murmured. 


120 THE LIVING MUMMY 


presently. “ The others believe you to have per- 
ished in the desert.” 

“ They consoled themselves, no doubt ? ” 

“My father especially.” 

“ Did he recover his Arab ? ” 

“What Arab?” 

“ The creature he had imprisoned in the sarcopha- 
gus.” 

“ The mummy, you mean. The body of 
Pthames? Oh, yes, that was safe enough, but he 
was in a fearful state until we found the punt. He 
feared that you would either steal or destroy the 
mummy, I believe.” 

“ Miss Otley ! ” I cried. 

“ You must not blame him too much,” she mur- 
mured; “you know how he had set heart ” 

“ Look here ! ” I interrupted. “ Do you mean to 
tell me that you found the mummy in the sar- 
cophagus? ” 

“ Certainly. Why ? ” 

“ Did you see it?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ The mummy ? ” 

“ Why, of course.” 

“ A dead body, a mummy ? ” 

“ Dr. Pinsent, how strangely you insist.” 

“ I’ll tell you the reason. When I opened the 
sarcophagus—” 

“ Yes.” 


THE MEETING 


121 


‘‘ It contained not a mummy, but a living man.’' 

“ Impossible.” 

** You think so? The Arab was the very man 
who frightened you so often in the temple at the 
Hill of Rakh.” 

“ Dr. Pinsent!” 

“ When I removed the lid he leaped out of the 
sarcophagus, sprang ashore and fled to the desert. 
I followed him for several miles. But I could not 
catch him. I was compelled to give up the chase. 
And now you tell me that you afterwards found 
a mummy in the coffln which I had left empty.” 

‘‘ One of us is dreaming,” said the girl. 

“ What was this mummy like ? ” 

“ A tall man — with a curious conical-shaped head 
— and eyes set hideously far apart in its skull — but 
you have seen the Arab who frightened me — and 
indeed he attacked you at your camp. His mummi- 
fied counterpart.” 

And some of his ribs were broken ? ” 

‘‘ I do not know.” 

“ But his body was bandaged. Otherwise he was 
almost nude.” 

“ Good heavens ! ” she exclaimed. She put down 
her cup. ‘‘ You make me very unhappy. You 
force me to recall my horror — in the cave temple. 
The wretched uncanny sense of the supernatural 
that oppressed me there. You make me remember 
that I was tortured into a fancy that the mummy 


122 THE LIVING MUMMY 

was a ghost — that we were haunted — that — oh ! oh ! 
And father has been so kind to me lately, kinder 
than ever before.” 

He is in London ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“ And the mummy ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“And Dr. Belleville?” 

“He is staying with us.” 

“Captain Weldon?” 

She turned aside her head. “ He is in London, 
too.” 

“ You are shortly to be married, I am informed.” 

She stood up. “ I must really be going,” she ob- 
served constrainedly; then she held out her hand. 
I watched her pick her way through the crowd to 
our hostess. It was a well-bred crowd, but it stared 
at her. She was worth looking at. She walked just 
as a woman should and she bore herself with the 
proper touch of pride that is at the same time a per- 
sonal protection and a provocative of curiosity. 
Some people call it dignity. Hubbard materialised 
from the shadow of a neighbouring curtain. “ My 
wife has invited me to dinner,” he announced. 
“ You, too. I have made her your excuses because 
I have a money matter to discuss that should not 
be postponed.” 

“You have my deepest sympathy,” I answered, 
and left him as puzzled to know what I meant as 
I was. Something was whispering over and over 


THE MEETING 123 

in my ear— Work! work! work! and whispering 
in the imperative mood. I determined to call upon 
Captain Weldon and procure from him my manu- 
script, at onc6. I remembered he lived in Jermyn 
Street. I walked thither as fast as I was able. 


Chapter XIII 
Hubbard Is Jealous 

I ENCOUNTERED the Captain on his door- 
step. He was just going out, hatted and 
gloved, but on seeing me he abandoned his 
intention. His delight was that of a child, and so 
manifestly genuine, so transparently sincere, that 
it warmed my heart. He dragged me into his 
sitting-room and wrung my hands again and again, 
expressing his pleasure in tones that made the 
windows rattle. One cannot help liking a man 
so simple and at the same time so kind. There are 
too many complex people in the world. He had 
grieved for my supposed loss more than at his own 
brother’s death, he said, and I believed him. Very 
few men care much for their brothers. Then he 
told me all about his approaching marriage. It was 
to take place in five weeks and he was dreading the 
ordeal already. He had just finished furnishing his 
Wexford country house from top to bottom. They 
were to settle there after a honeymoon in Italy and 
adopt the life and manners of country magnates, 
only coming to town for the season. It was Miss 
Ottley’s desire ; she did not care for London smart 

124 


HUBBARD IS JEALOUS 125 

society, it seemed, and although he did, he was quite 
willing to give it up or anything else indeed to please 
her. It was pleasant to hear him rhapsodise con- 
cerning her and to watch his happy face. Its spirit 
made him ten times handsomer, and although his 
speech was boyish it did not detract him from his 
exuberant virility. He was a man from the crown 
of his head to the soles of his feet, — a splendid ani- 
mal, with just enough brains to be a force to 
command respect, and a heart big enough to fill the 
whole world with his affection. There was not a 
single bitter drop in the cup of his happiness. He 
was about to marry the woman he adored. He was 
enormously wealthy, and his wife-to-be was the only 
daughter of a millionaire. His plans for the future 
were Utopian. He dreamed of enlarging his estates 
and providing for at least the welfare of a hundred 
families. Wealth was given one in trust for others, 
he declared, and he was resolved to make every one 
around him happy and contented. As a wedding 
present to his tenants he had already ordered the 
rebuilding of their homes and cottages on a scale of 
almost lavish grandeur. Each farmhouse would be 
a model of luxury ; each labourer’s cottage would be 
a miniature castle with tiled walls, and hot and cold 
water attachments. Other landlords were annoyed 
with him and had not hesitated to express their re- 
sentment. He was spoiling his own tenants and 
making them dissatisfied, they said. But the Captain 
asked me with eyes aglow how could one want to 


120 THE LIVING MUMMY 


keep all the good things of life to benefit a single 
class? It was monstrous, impossible, absurd. He 
only wished he could at one stroke make all the poor 
in the world comfortable. “ You ought to hear May 
on the subject,’’ he cried out in a burst of confi- 
dence. “ You’d think she was a socialist. But she 
is only an angel.” Thence he wandered to her 
father. Sir Robert had given up all his old stupid 
ways. He had reformed and was as sane as any 
man in England. He had repudiated his ancient 
attachment to “ spooks ” and spirit-rapping, and 
Mahatmas, and had sent his famous medium, 
Navarro, to the right about, much to that gentle- 
man’s disgust and indignation. Sir Robert was 
now engaged with Dr. Belleville in compiling a 
history of the dynasty from papyri they had found 
in the tomb of Ptahmes. The Captain still thought 
that Ottley had treated me very badly, but he 
begged me to forgive the old man as he had evi- 
dently not been quite in his mind at the time. You 
excited his professional jealousy, don’t you know, 
old chap,” said Weldon. Sir Robert has one fault 
— ^he is dreadfully vain and he wanted to get all 
the credit out of his discovery. He told me so him- 
self. He quite opened up to me on the voyage 
home.” 

A vision of Sir Robert Ottley ‘‘opening up” 
to the Captain occurred to me. The little, old, 
inscrutable, shut-in face of the baronet peering 
slyly into the frank and unsuspicious countenance 


HUBBARD IS JEALOUS 127 

of the handsome, simple-minded guardsman and 
making a confession of hig faults the while! For 
why ? I could not guess, but I had a feeling that 
it was for no straightforward purpose. We dined 
together, and while we ate I questioned him about 
Dr. Belleville. For the first time I saw a shade on 
his face. He did not like the doctor. I pursued the 
investigation. For a while he fenced with my ques- 
tions but finally it all came out. “ I have an idea,” 
said he, that Belleville annoys May. He is in love 
with her. Of course one can’t blame him for that, 
but as a guest in her father’s house and her father’s 
closest friend, he has opportunities to force his at- 
tentions, and I believe the brute abuses them. She 
does not complain and will tell me nothing — but all 
the same I have my opinion. You see, she wor- 
ships her father so much that she will run no risk 
of hurting his feelings. She would put up with 
almost anything rather than distress him, and Belle- 
ville knows it. He has Sir Robert under his thumb 
far more than I like. I hate to think I may be 
wronging the fellow — but upon my soul I cannot 
help distrusting him.” 

“ But you have nothing definite to go upon?” 

‘‘Nothing — except this: One day about two 
weeks ago I went in unannounced and found her — 
in tears. I had passed Belleville in the hall a second 
earlier. He looked as black as night. And she — > 
well, she told me, weeping, that she would marry 
me when I pleased. Up till then she had always put 


128 THE LIVING MUMMY 


off naming the day. What would you make of it, 
Pinsent ? ” 

‘‘What did you?’’ 

“ I concluded that he had been persecuting her 
and that — well, that she felt safer with me than 
with her father. Don’t rag me for being vain, old 
chap. If you’d seen her cry. She is not that sort of 
a girl either. It was the first time I ever knew her 
to break down, and I’ve known her all my life.” 

“ Did you speak to Belleville about it?” 

“ She forbade me to — ^but all the same I did. I 
behaved like an idiot, of course. Lost my temper 
and all that sort of thing. He was as cool as a cu- 
cumber. He denied nothing and admitted nothing. 
He pretended to think I had been drinking, and that 
enraged me the more. I was fool enough to strike 
him. He got all the best of it. He picked fumself 
up smiling sweetly and said that nothing could in- 
duce him to resent anything addressed by a person 
in whom Miss Ottley was interested. The inference 
was that he loved her in an infinitely superior way 
to me. I felt like choking him for a bit. And would 
you believe it — he actually offered to shake hands.” 

“ A dangerous man, my lad. Beware of him.” 

“He gives me the creeps,” said the Captain. 
“ But let’s talk of something else pleasanter.” 

We talked of Miss Ottley, or rather he did, while 
I listened, till midnight. Then he strolled with me 
to Bruton Street and we parted at Dixon Hub- 
bard’s doorstep as the clocks were striking one. 


HUBBARD IS JEALOUS 129 

I found Hubbard seated before the fire, smoking*, 
and staring dreamily up at a portrait of his wife 
that rested on the mantel. 

“ Tve found out why I married her, Pinsent,” 
he said slowly. “ It was to benefit a Jew named 
Maurice Levi— the most awful bounder in London. 
She had been borrowing from him at twenty-five 
per cent, to pay some of her brother's gambling 
debts. Levi wanted to marry her, and would 
have, too, if I had not stepped in to save him. She 
is the dearest little woman in the world. She shed 
some tears. They cost me about a thousand pounds- 
apiece." 

‘‘ Good-night, Dixon,” I said gently. 

Tears, idle tears,” he murmured. ‘‘The poet, 
mark you, did not speak of woman’s tears.” Then 
he closed his eyes and heaved a deep sigh. “ You 
find me changed, Pinsent?” 

“A little.” 

“For better or worse? Be frank with me.” 

“ For the better. This afternoon for the first time 
in our acquaintance I beheld you in a lady’s draw- 
ing-room. You are growing tolerant of your kind.” 

“ I am no longer a misanthrope, but I am rapidly 
becoming a misogynist. Yes, I am altered, old 
friend, greatly altered. At the bottom of my 
former misanthropy was a diseased conviction born 
of vanity that I was the only person in the world 
really worth thinking badly about. But marriage 
has compelled me to think more badly still of some- 


130 THE LIVING MUMMY 


body else. The less selfish outlook thus induced 
has broadened my mind. I begin to look forward 
to a time when my perversion will be complete and 
I shall be able without blushing to look any woman 
in the face and acknowledge her superiority in 
innate viciousness.’’ 

I begin to pity your wife, Dixon.” 

“A waste of sentiment. She has married five 
and twenty thousand pounds per annum, and she 
would be the last to tell you that the institution is 
a failure. Few women contrive to dispose as ad- 
vantageously of the sort of goods they have to sell. 
Lady Helen would have made a fortune as a bag- 
man. But there, I do not want to prejudice you 
against her. She likes you, I believe. Perhaps — 
who knows — but there — good-night.” 

I was glad to get away. 


Chapter XIV 
The Pushful Man 

A DAY or two afterwards, while spending an 
hour in the rooms of the Egyptology 
Society I was introduced to a new Fellow, 
who had been appointed during my absence from 
England. His name was Louis Coen. He was 
in private life a broker, but his heart and soul were 
wrapped in the Cause. He evidently spelt it with 
a capital, in sympathy, perhaps, with the vast 
sums in cash he had already put at the disposal 
of the Society for exploration work. He was in- 
tensely entertaining. He took me aside and con- 
fided that it was his ambition to transform the 
Society into a sort of club. We needed a liquor 
license and more commodious premises, it seemed. 
Then we would boom. He offered to provide all 
the money requisite and he begged me to use my 
influence with other members to get his views 
adopted. He was one of those men whose mission 
in life is to “ run ” every concern into which they 
can manage to insinuate themselves. I was afraid 
I disappointed him, although I did my best to be 
polite. But he was nothing daunted. He declared 
he would galvanise the ‘‘old fogies” into fresh 
activity and make us see things from his point of 
131 


132 THE LIVING MUMMY 


view or die in the attempt. We might be as serious 
as we pleased, but he would force us to be sociable. 
He had a nose like a parrot, and was already on 
the committee of management. He even proposed 
to change our name. The Royal Egyptian Club 
seemed to him a “ real smart monniker.” He saved 
me from an impending mental and physical collapse 
by mentioning the name of Sir Robert Ottley. 
Ottley, it appeared, was his latest convert. Ottley 
agreed with him that we wanted new blood, 
that our methods were too conservative. Ottley 
thought it was ridiculous that everything a member 
did or discovered should have to be reported to, and 
judged about, by a lot of old fossils. What right 
had those old stick-at-homes ” to appropriate the 
credit of the exertions of the energetic? “Would 
you believe it,’’ cried Mr. Coen, “they have had 
the impudence to demand from him an account of 
his recent find — the tomb of an old johnny named 
Ptahmes — which he unearthed at his own expense 
entirely ! They have had the ‘ hide ’ to insist that 
he shall immediately hand over the mummy to the 
British Museum and place the papyri before them 
— them — them — for the purpose of translation, 
et-cetera ! I never heard a more cheeky proposition 
in my life. My friend Ottley would act rightly 
if he told them to go to the deuce ! ” 

“What has he told them?” I inquired. 

“ Oh, he is temporising. He has written to say 
that he will place his discoveries at their disposal 


THE PUSHFUL MAN 133 

when he has satisfied himself of their authenticity, 
et-cetera. Of course that’s all " gyver/ The 
mummy is genuine enough, so are the papyri. But 
he naturally wants to have first ‘ go ’ at them, and 
he is fighting for time. Meanwhile, I am organising 
the progressives. We can never hope to get this 
show properly on the move till we shake things up 
and reform on sound commercial lines. I tell you, 
sir, before I’ve done with it. I’ll make this Society 
a power in the land. I’m going to take it up in both 
hands and chuck it right in the eyes of the B. P., 
that means the British Public. And you take it 
from me, it’s going to stay there. Good-day to you. 
I’m glad to have met you. You are a bit antiquated 
in your notions; but you’re a young man yet, and 
you’ll find you’ll have to join my crowd. S’long! ” 

He shook my hand very energetically and bustled 
off. I sank into a chair and began to fan myself. 
A moment later the president. Lord Ballantine, 
entered the room. The poor old gentleman was 
purple in the face, spluttering : Has-has-has that 
man Coen been can-can-canvassing you?” he 
thundered. 

I nodded. 

I-I-I’ll resign — by God ! ” cried Lord Ballan- 

time. “ It-it-it’s too much. I-I-I,” he stopped 

gasping for a word, the picture of impotent rage 
and misery. 

But I felt no sympathy for him. “ Why did you 
let him in?” I asked. 


134 THE LIVING MUMMY 

** We-we-we were short of funds.” 

** And now ? ” 

“ He’s bought us, or thinks he has, body and 
soul.” 

*‘Who nominated him?” 

‘‘ Ottley.” 

I was not surprised to hear it. “ He— he’s Ott- 
ley’s broker. Ottley and he are running the market- 
change — together. Have you heard. They have 
cornered South Africans. They made half a mil- 
lion between them yesterday. All London is 
talking about it. And they want to turn us into a 
beer garden.’^ 

“ You’ll have to turn them out.” 

" How can we? We owe them. Lord knows bow 
much.” 

** Then if you cannot,” I said calmly, rising as 
I spoke, “you’ll have to grin and bear the inflic- 
tion you have brought upon yourselves. After all, 
it’s a question of voting.” 

“You’ll stand by us, Pinsent?” he implored. 

“ My resignation is at any time at your disposal, 
Ballantine. All the same, I don’t pity you a scrap. 
You are getting little more than you deserve. I have 
been working for three years for the Society 
without remuneration, and I am a poor man. 
Many of your older members are as rich as Croe- 
sus, and yet you must needs import a vulgar 
Semitic broker to help you out of a hole. Good- 
afternoon.” 


THE PUSHFUL MAN 


135 


I left the poor old fellow helpless and speechless, 
staring after me with anguished eyes and mouth 
agape. That evening I received a letter from Louis 
Coen offering to finance my book on the Nile 
Monuments. He said he felt sure it would prove a 
work of rare educational value, and on that account 
he was willing to furnish every library in the 
English-speaking world with a free copy. Aware, 
however, that I was not a business man, he would 
conduct all the business arrangements himself. On 
receipt of the manuscript, therefore, he would for- 
ward me a cheque for £1000 as an instalment in 
advance of my share of the profits — ^fifteen per 
cent, he proposed to allow me — and he wound up 
as follows: “Your acceptance of my offer will 
commit you to nothing as regards our chat of 
this morning. My good friend. Sir Robert Ottley, 
put me Up to this venture. He has the brightest 
opinion of your ability and he is sure your book 
will prove a success. I am going blind on his say 
so. Let me have an answer right away.” 

I thought a good deal over this precious epistle, 
but in the end I did not see why I should not make 
a little money. I knew very well that under 
ordinary circumstances it would be impossible for 
me to make £100, let alone a thousand, out of the 
Nile Monuments. But I felt little doubt that Mr. 
Coen had a plan to make even more — somehow 
or other. But I had done the man injustice — it was 
not money he was after. Reading the Times 


136 THE LIVING MUMMY 


two mornings later I came upon the following an- 
nouncement : 

A Patron of Learning ’’ 

We are informed that Mr. Louis Coen, F. R. 
E. S., has induced the well-known Egyptologist, 
Dr. Hugh Pinsent, to commit the results of his 
recent archaeological researches on the Nile to the 
enduring care of the printer’s ink. Mr. Coen has 
purchased the rights in advance for a large sum of 
the projected volume, which it is said will take the 
form of an exhaustive treatise on the Nile Monu- 
ments. It is not, however, Mr. Coen’s object to 
direct his enterprise to his own financial benefit. 
It is his intention to produce a splendidly illus- 
trated edition of the book for presentation to 
educational establishments all over the United 
Kingdom in the hope of thus fixing public attention 
upon the enormous historical importance of the 
work now being carried on by the Royal Egyptol- 
ogist Society, of which Society Mr. Coen is a 
member, and a generous supporter. Mr. Coen is 
to be congratulated upon his latest effort in the 
interest of popular education. It will be remem- 
bered that last year he endowed a chair in the 
University of Newcome for study of the ancient 
Egyptian tongue; but it may be confidently ex- 
pected that his exploitation of Dr. Pinsent’s history 
will go much further in popularising a subject 


THE PUSHFUL MAN 137 

which is now practically confined to the ranks of 
leisured scholars.” 

It was not pleasant to think that I had been idiot 
enough to allow Mr. Coen to use me as a stepping- 
stone to notoriety. But it was too late to object. 
The thing was done. My consolation was a bigger 
banking account than I had had for years. Not 
even the fact that during the day I received a score 
of sarcastic congratulatory telegrams from mem- 
bers of the Society, could rob me of that satisfac- 
tion. But I sent in my resignation all the same. I 
felt that I had no right to belong to any institution 
run by Mr; Coen. I might meet him there — and 
if I did, a police court case of assault and battery 
would infallibly result. 


Chapter XV 

A Quaint Love Pact 

O NE evening after a hard morning’s work' 
on my book, and a particularly fatiguing 
afternoon spent in vainly trying to lift 
Hubbard out of a funereal mood, I thought I should 
make myself a present of a few minutes’ conversa^ 
tion with Miss Ottley. I argued that she would be 
sure to spend the evening out somewhere, so I 
knocked at her father’s door a few minutes 
before eight o’clock. A gloomy-looking footman 
opened the door. Yes, Miss Ottley was at home. 
He would give her my card. Would I wait? I 
would, though I wondered. I heard Dr. Belleville’s 
voice. It issued from a room that opened oh the 
hall. He was talking shrilly as though he were 
angered, and in French, perhaps to spare the feel- 
ings of the servants. He kept repeating that he 
had made up his mind and that he would not wait 
another day for God Almighty. All of a sudden 
the door opened and he stalked out looking like the 
baffled villain in a melodrama. We came face to 
face. He stopped dead and glared at me. ‘‘ You! ” 
he gasped. “What are you doing here; what do 
you want?” 


138 


A QUAINT LOVE PACT 139 

I glanced beyond him and saw Miss Ottley. He 
had been speaking to her, then, and like that. My 
blood began to boil. I advanced upon him trying 
to smile. I had seen Miss Ottley’s face. I want 
you to go right back into that room and pretend 
you are a gentleman,’’ I said. The girl had put 
a kerchief to her eyes. “ Quickly! ” I added. 

Dr. Belleville returned into the room. I fol- 
lowed and closed the door. 

Dr. Pinsent •” he began as I turned. But I 

cut him short. 

On your knees, I commanded. He went livid. 
“Dr. Pinsent,” said Miss Ottley, “I beg you 
not to interfere. You will only make it the harder 
for me.” 

She might as well have spoken to a fence. I 
never took my eyes from Belleville. “ You know 
what you ought to do,” I murmured. ‘‘ If you 
compel me to teach you, you’ll repent the object 
lesson in a hospital.” 

He fell on his knees before the girl. ‘‘ I apol- 
ogise,” he groaned out in a choking voice. 

I bowed him out of the room as deferentially as 
if he were a woman. He vanished silently. Miss 
Ottley was dressed for the opera. 

“You are going out?” I asked. 

“ Y-yes,” she said. She was powdering her face 
before a mirror. 

“ To the opera ? ” 

“ Yes. To meet there Mrs. Austin.” 


140 THE LIVING MUMMY 


** Dare you walk there — ^with me for a com- 
panion ? ” 

‘‘ Oh, yes,’’ she said. 

A moment later we found ourselves in Curzon 
Street. She took my arm. We walked for two 
blocks in absolute silence, save that every now and 
then she choked back a sob. She was her own 
mistress again at length, however. “ Why did you 
come — of all times to-night?” she asked. 

‘‘ I do not know.” 

“ Did you wish to see my father? ” 

‘‘ No. You.” 

‘‘Why?” 

“ I had a subconscious conviction that you might 
be needing me.” 

“Truly?” she cried — and pressed my arm. 

“That or something else. At any rate, I felt 
obliged to call. It may have been from a de- 
sire to reassure myself about the colour of your 
eyes.” 

“Ah! I suppose you are wondering — ^because 
— ^Dr. Belleville — ^because — I ,” she paused. 

“ I am human,” I observed. 

“ I want you to forget it. Will you. Dr. Pin- 
sent?” 

“ On the spot.” 

“ That is good of you.” Her tone was crisp with 
disappointment. “ You are indeed a friend.” 

“But not in need a friend, eh? Come, come. 
Miss Ottley, you are in trouble. I am strong and 


A QUAINT LOVE PACT 141 

trustworthy and capable. There are times when 
a man may tell the truth about himself, and this, 
I think, is one of them. Can I help you?” 

‘‘No one can help me,” she said sadly, “you 
least of all.” 

“And why least of all?” 

“ Because you hate my father.” 

‘‘Is he in trouble, too?” 

“ He is the willing but unwitting victim of a 
wicked, wicked man — but, oh, what am I saying? 
Dr. Pinsent, please, please let us talk of something 
else.” 

“You are trembling — May.” 

“ Oh ! ” she said — and looked at me. 

“It slipped out — unconsciously,” I stammered. 
“ I did not mean to be impertinent. I think of you 
— by that name. Is it impertinent to think ” 

“No, no.” 

“Then you’ll forgive me?” 

“ What is there to forgive ? ” 

“ All that the circumstance implies. Come, after 
all, I am not sorry for the slip. Why should I twist 
its meaning either, like a coward. It is only the 
weak who need the shelter of hypocrisy. Look 
straight before you — May — and do not turn your 
eyes. May again, you see.” 

“You have something to tell me,” she said 
gravely. 

“ The old, old story. May,” I answered with a 
short but reckless laugh. 


142 THE LIVING MUMMY 


“Should you — Dr. Pinsent — do you think?” 

“ Yes, because the husband you have chosen is 
a gallant fellow and my friend. I am too fond of 
him to wish to do him an ill turn, even in my own 
adventure. Why, look you. May, were you to turn 
to me and say, ‘ I love you, Hugo Pinsent,’ I would 
answer, ‘ Yes— and we both love Frankfort 
Weldon.’ ” 

“ Yes,” said Miss Ottley. She stopped and we 
looked deep into each other’s eyes. 

“ Yes,” she said again. “ And we both love 
Frankfort Weldon.” 

“ God help us,” I exclaimed. 

“ It is a good prayer. God will hear it,” she said 
softly. 

“What made you?” I asked a little later; we 
were walking on again — but now apart. 

“You,” she said. 

“ It is very wonderful.” 

“And sad,” said she. 

“ But grand and beautiful.” 

“ I shall not go to the opera to-night,” she said. 
“ Will you put me in a cab? ” 

“You will go home?” 

“Yes.” 

“ And Belleville ? ” 

“ He will be at work. I shall not see him.” 

“ He threatened you ? ” 

Not me, but Captain W^eldon. He demands 
that I shall marry him. My father also wishes it. 


A QUAINT LOVE PACT 143 

You see I tell you everything— now. You will 
help me, will you not ? ” 

“ Of course. But you must teach me how. In 
what fashion does Belleville threaten Weldon?” 

'^ows that unless I do as he demands 
within this week — Captain Weldon will be found 
dead in his bed.” 

“Murder!” I cried. 

“He does not scruple to conceal the fact. He 
declares he has nothing to fear. He pretends to 
possess a secret which gives him as great a power 
over life and death as Providence. An esoteric 
power, of course. It is connected with the dis- 
covery of Ptahmes. He claims to have already 
tested it. My father has used it in other ways. He 
has been experimenting on the Stock Exchange. In 
ten days he has already doubled his fortune. Surely 
of that you must have heard.” 

“ I have heard that he has been speculating with 
extravagant success. But that his luck was due 
to supernatural agency I decline to believe. In my 
opinion Belleville is simply putting up a scoundrelly 
game of bluff.” 

“ I wish I could think so, too. But I cannot.” 

“But, my dear girl, consider the probabilities. 
Belleville’s story belongs to the Middle Ages.” 

“ Yes— but he believes it. I am as sure of that as 
that I live.” 

“And is that a reason why you should believe it, 
too ? The man is perhaps a lunatic.” 


144 THE LIVING MUMMY 


‘‘ Ah ! ” she said. “ I knew that you would take 
this view. That was partly why I felt you could 
not help me.” 

But her distress cut me to the qtiick. “ It does 
not matter what view I take,” I muttered hastily. 
“ I’ll do anything you wish.” 

“ Anything? ” 

“ Did you doubt it ? ” 

‘‘ No.” 

« Then ” 

“ Then go and stay with Captain Weldon. He 
will welcome you, for he likes you out of mention. 
Spend the week with him. Do not let him from 
your sight at night. Especially guard him while 
he sleeps. Is it too much to ask ? ” 

“ No.” 

“ There is a cab — stop it, please ! Thanks. Now 
say good-bye to me.” 

“ Good-bye — May.” I helped her into the 
vehicle. “Would it be permissible to kiss your 
hand?” 

“ No ! ” she said, “ but give mg yours.” 

I felt her lips upon my fingers, and with a sort 
of groan I snatched them away from her grasp. 
That was our good-bye. 


Chapter XVI 

Lady Helen Prescribes for Her Husband 

N ext morning early I picked a quarrel 
with Hubbard, and left him biting his 
finger nails. I went straight to Jermyn 
Street with my valise. Weldon was in bed. I 
told him I had had a fight with Hubbard and asked 
to be put up for a few days. He agreed with accla- 
mation, though I am sure he was perfectly astounded 
at my strange request. I proceeded to astound 
him further. I mendaciously informed him that 
my nerves were in rags and that I was obsessed with 
a horrible hallucination of a mysteriously threat- 
ened life at night. Would, then, he give me a shake- 
down in his own bedroom, just for a week? It is 
wonderful how easy lying comes to one after the 
first plunge. I did the thing thoroughly. Mind you, 
I felt all along the utmost scorn for Dr. Belleville’s 
threats against young Weldon’s life. But Miss 
Ottley had asked me to look after him, and I was 
determined to fulfil the trust to the very foot of the 
letter. He was a splendid fellow to live with. It 
gives me a heartache to remember the anxiety to 
make me comfortable, the almost absurd cordiality 

145 


146 THE LIVING MUMMY 


of his welcome, the unselfish sincerity of his de- 
sire to please. One would have thought me a 
superior creation, a sort of divinity in disguise, the 
way he treated me. I had never awakened such 
affection in any living thing before, except in a 
mongrel retriever which once upon a time followed 
me home and which I had to turn away after it had 
licked my hand. And the amazing thing was, I 
had done nothing in the world to deserve it. I had 
never put myself out of my way in the smallest par- 
ticular to serve the Captain. When we first met 
I had treated him with the scantest courtesy and 
afterwards with a sort of good-natured contempt. 
Even now I cannot understand it properly. It may 
have arisen from a secret disposition to hero-wor- 
ship. Some men are like that. They are fond of 
investing a sentient figure-head with exaggerated 
attributes of majesty and bowing down before it. 

It is the survival of an aboriginal instinct to glor- 
ify the insubordinate. Weldon admired two things 
above all others : strength of body and strength of 
mind. In both these gifts he felt himself inferior 
to me, therefore he must needs put me on a ped- 
estal. His gratitude in finding me willing to stoop 4 
to ask a favour of him was unbounded. It re- 
sembled that of an Eton fag to a monitor kind 
enough to take an interest in his doings. I have 
said before that he was essentially a boy at heart. 
But what an honest, clean-minded, fresh, whole- 
hearted boy! I found myself liking and admiring 


LADY HELEN PRESCRIBES 147 

him more and more each day. He taught me one 
of the greatest truths a man may learn. It is this — 
there is a more admirable thing in the world than 
intellect. Weldon’s intellect was not of the first 
order. That is why I began by very nearly despis- 
ing him. But he was the straightest, truest, manli- 
est and simplest-minded man I have ever met. And 
I ended by half-humorously but none the less sin- 
cerely, reverencing him. If it were only for his sake 
I shall while I live regard the highest type of brain 
as incomplete without a paramount ideal of mor- 
ality. And the best thing about Weldon was that 
he was utterly unconscious of his goodness. He 
was perfectly incapable of posing, but he had a fine, 
robust vanity of sorts, and he liked to regard him- 
self as a bit of a “ sad dog ! ” Romance was at the 
bottom of this. He envied the more than question- 
able experience of some of his acquaintances. It 
was because of the glamour of their perfumed 
wickedness. But their callous self-extrication from 
entanglements after growing weary of their chains 
made him long to wring their necks. For his own 
part, a certain shop girl had once fallen in love with 
him. He twirled his moustache and cast furtive 
glances at the mirror near him. It appears he 
had dallied with the temptation for a while — the 
“ sad dog ” — but Miss Ottley’s portrait had saved 
him. He had kissed the shop girl once — horror of 
horrors! — in the Park after dark. He apologised 
to her father with a thousand pounds and fled to 


148 THE LIVING MUMMY 

South America. When he came back she was mar- 
ried. He had confessed the whole of his truly 
dreadful criminality to Miss Ottley in a letter— and 
she had kept him waiting" three miserable days for a 
reply. He believed he would have gone to the dogs 
headlong if she had refused to pardon him. But 
she did not. Vanity told him the reason. But it 
was beautiful to see the colour flush his cheeks and 
his eyes sparkle as he protested that he couldn’t un- 
derstand why she ever brought herself to speak to 
him again. I believe that was as far as Weldon 
ever got to telling a downright falsehood; the dear, 
great gander. 

On the third afternoon of my stay at Jermyn 
Street I was busily at work writing, when a knock 
sounded. Weldon was out; he had gone to take 
Miss Ottley for a drive in his newest dogcart. His 
man, too, had a day off, so I was quite alone. I said 
Come in,” and there entered Lady Helen Hub- 

bard s wife. She was a vision of lace fripperies 
and arch, mincing daintiness. 

“So! run to earth! ” she cried. 

I sprang up and offered her a chair. 

She settled into it with a swish and a sigh. “ Been 
searching for you everywhere! I had thought of 
applying to the police.” 

I suppose I looked astonished, for she laughed. 

I stammered, ‘‘ Why have you been searching 
for me? 

She gave me a glance of scorn. “ Should a duti- 


LADY HELEN PRESCRIBES 149 

ful wife regard with indifference the sudden de- 
sertion of her husband by the only friend he pos- 
sesses? Just tell me that.” 

** You take my breath away.” 

“No,” she flashed, “the ‘dutiful wife’ did that. 
Confess ! ” 

“Well, since you insist — I admit that Helen 
becomes you better than Joan,” I said auda- 
ciously. 

Her eyes glittered. “May be, my fine gentle- 
man — but would you say ‘Dixon’ was synony- 
mous with ‘ Darby ’ ? ” 

“ Not quite. Still, they both commence with a 
‘ D.’ That is something, eh ? ” 

“ So does another word which rhymes with 
Iamb,” she retorted cuttingly. “Oh! I might have 
known that you would take his part. You men 
always stick together.” 

“I beg your pardon. Lady Helen. I consider 
that you deserve well of your country. You have 
improved Hubbard past belief. He is worth im- 
proving.” 

She smiled. “ I have humanised him, just a little, 
don’t you think?” 

I nodded. 

She leaned forward suddenly and looked me 
in the eye. “ It’s only the commencement, the thin 
edge of the wedge.” 

“ Oh!” 

She began speaking through her teeth. “ I’ll 


150 THE LIVING MUMMY 


make a man of him yet if I have to beggar him in 
the process.” 

“I beg you to excuse me.” 

She fell back and began to laugh. ** Oh, how sol- 
emn you are. You disapprove of me. Ha! ha! 
ha! You don’t even begin to hide it.” 

“You see I do not understand you.” 

“Yet you disapprove?” 

“ No. I wonder.” 

“You are a man, Doctor, that one can’t help 
trusting ! ” She stood up and began to move about 
the room. “ I am going to confide in you,” she 
announced, stopping suddenly. 

“A dangerous experiment,” I observed. 

“ One risks death every time one crosses a car- 
crowded thoroughfare. I’ll take the risk.” 

I shrugged my shoulders. 

She frowned. “ You used to like me once. What 
stopped you ? ” 

“ I haven’t stopped.” 

She smiled bewitchingly and, gliding forward, 
placed her hand upon my arm. “ He wanted to 
take me away to South America — ^he owns a ranch 
there^ — and to bury us two for ever from the world. 
That was his idea of marriage. It all came of a 
rooted disbelief in his own ability to keep me in- 
terested in himself while I possessed an opportunity 
to contrast him with his social equals. He saw a 
rival in every man I looked at or who looked at 
me. He should have been born a Turk. I should 


LADY HELEN PRESCRIBES 151 

then have been the queen of his zenana. But no, 
I must do him justice — ^he is not polygamously in- 
clined. Still, he would have shut me up.” 

“ The poor devil,” I muttered. “ It is his dis- 
position. He cannot help himself.” 

‘‘ But he may be cured of it,” said Lady Helen. 
** He thinks every woman is a rake at heart. But 
he is mad. I for one am not. Mind you, I love 
society. I like men. I live for admiration. But 
as to — Upshaw ! ” — she spread out her hands. 

‘‘You quarrelled?” I inquired. 

“ No, we argued the matter out and came to an 
arrangement. We are good friends. But he does 
not conceal his opinion that some day or another 
I will go to the devil. He thinks it inevitable. 
Pride, however, forbids him from looking on except 
at a distance. That is why he separated from me. 
He imagines that no woman can keep true to one 
man unless she is immured. The fool, the utter 
fool ! As if walls and locks and keys were ever an 
encumbrance. Love is the only solid guarantee of 
a woman's faith.” 

“ But my dear Lady Helen, your husband has 
not the faintest idea that you love him ! ” 

She drew back gasping. “You — you — ^you!” 
she cried. She was scarlet. Then she said, “ How 
dare you ! ” She looked so lovely that I no longer 
.wondered at Hubbard's infatuation. 

“ You should not have kept it from him,” I said 
severely. “ But there, it's wonderful. How did 


152 THE LIVING MUMMY 

you ever manage it? He is not an attractive man. 
And you — a butterfly. It is a miracle. There 
must be depths in you. Are marriages made in 
Heaven? I thought — ^he thinks — you married him 
for his money. And you love him! I shall never 
get over this. Lady Helen, you are a most amazing 
woman ! ” 

She rushed at me panting with rage and, seizing 
my arm, shook it with both hands. “If ever you 
tell him— ril— IT kill you!” she hissed. 

“But why?” 

“ He must find out himself. He must suffer. He 
deserves it. He has bitterly insulted me. He has 
shamed my sex. He must gnaw out his heart. In 
no other way can he be made like other men. Til 
teach him. I’ll teach him. Oh, if you dare to in- 
terfere! But you shan’t — ^you would not dare.” 

“ No,” I said, “ I would not dare.” 

Next second she was in another mood. Her 
anger melted to pathos and the little siren began to 
plead to me. “ You know what I really want you 
to do is to help me,” she murmured, oh ! so prettily. 
“ And it is all for Dixon’s sake, or really and truly 
I would not ask. You see. Doctor, I am working 
on a system’. Goodnesss, how I am trusting you! 
And you can help, oh ! ever so much.” 

“ Only tell me how.” 

“ Do not lose a chance to revile me.” 

I was staggered. “I beg your pardon. Lady 
Helen ! ” I cried. 


LADY HELEN PRESCRIBES 153 

“ Ah ! I thought you would understand. Don’t 
you see you are his only friend? More than that, 
you are the only man he ever speaks to. He is 
a hermit. Well, then, who else is there to reproach 
me to his ears? To put his own thoughts of me 
into words ? ’’ 

‘‘But what on earth do you want that done 
for?’’ 

“ It will compel him to defend me, first by lip, 
then by heart.” 

I confess I whistled. 

“ I felt it to be necessary to have this talk with 
you,” went on Lady Helen. “ Hitherto he has done 
all the reviling and you the defending of me. Is 
it not so ? ” 

“ You little witch.” 

“And that is not right, since it is he, and not 
you, who is my husband.” 

“ Lady Helen, you are surely the cleverest woman 
in the world.” 

“ I have thought the matter out,” she answered, 
with a sad little smile. “Is it wonderful that a 
woman should wish to be happy and that she 
should fight for that with every weapon she can 
find ? ” She rose and held out her hand. “ You 
will go and make friends soon, will you not? He 
is fretting because you have deserted him.” 

“In a very few days. Lady Helen. I wish I 
could this moment, but I cannot.” 

“You are very busy, eh?” 


154 THE LIVING MUMMY 


** I have a task to carry out. It will be finished 
at the end of the week.” 

‘‘So!” she said and shrugged her shoulders. 
“ And are you quite engaged ? Could you not come 
to me to-night? Your friend Captain Weldon 
comes, and some others. We are to have our for- 
tunes told. Signor Navarro has promised us a 
seance. Miss Ottley has arranged it. She tells 
me he is a truly marvellous clairvoyant, medium, et- 
cetera. Have you a curiosity to know your future ? 
Do come! Dixon will be there.” 

“Thank you very much; yes, I shall be glad to 
go.” 

I opened the door for her and she blew me a 
kiss from the stairs. I returned to my work, but it 
was very little I was able to do the rest of that 
afternoon. What could have induced Miss Ottley 
to arrange this seance? Were her nerves giving 
way under the strain of Dr. Belleville's threats? 
Did she really believe this rascal Navarro capable of 
predicting events? Was she becoming supersti- 
tious? These reflections profoundly disturbed me. 


Chapter XVII 
The Seance 

N avarro evidently belonged to the high- 
est and most ingenious order of charla- 
tanry. He had no assistant, no machin- 
ery, no accomplice. It was almost impossible to 
suspect any of the audience. There were only 
Lady Helen, Miss Ottley, Mrs. Greaves (wife of 
a Parliamentary Undersecretary), the Countess von 
Oeltzen (the Austrian Ambassadors wife), Wel- 
don, Hubbard, the Count von Oeltzen and myself 
present. And the medium' scouted the idea of 
turning down the lights. He left such devices to 
impostors, he remarked. He was a tall, thin fellow, 
with big, black eyes and a thick-lipped mouth. He 
had the most beautiful hands and feet. His fingers 
were covered with valuable diamond rings. He 
had a big bulbous nose and he wore a tire-bou- 
cheau moustache and beard consisting of about 
sixteen coarse stiff black hairs; four on each side 
of his upper lip and eight on his chin. He plucked 
at the latter continually in order to display his 
hands and his rings. It would have been a difficult 
matter to find his match in vulgarity, in ugliness, 
and impudence. But he was certainly impressive. 

155 


15 G THE LIVING MUMMY 

He talked of himself in a booming baritone, like 
a Barnum praising an elephant. He adored him- 
self and expected to be adored. He spoke with a 
strong Irish-Spanish accent. Probably he was an 
Irishman who had lived in Spain. But he posed 
as a full-blooded Castilian who had learned Eng- 
lish from a Cork philomath. 

After he had exhausted his vocabulary in de- 
scribing some of his clairvoyant achievements he 
needlessly directed us to be silent. He had per- 
mitted none of us a chance to speak thitherto. We 
were to wait, he said, till he began to breathe in 
a peculiar heavy manner, and then who so wished 
to experiment, must take his hands and hold them 
firmly for a little while, thinking of the matter 
next the experimenters heart; and then we should 
see what we should see. With a smile of lordly self- 
confidence he reposed his limbs upon a couch and 
sank back on the cushions. I glanced around the 
throng and saw they were all staring at Navarro 
— Miss Ottley with parted lips and rapt intentness. 
Her expression irritated me. Soon afterwards I 
met Hubbard’s eyes. He gave me a scowl. I 
looked at Weldon. He turned and frowned at me. 
I directed my attention to Lady Helen. She grew 
restless and, presently moving in her chair, glanced 
rapidly about. She started when our eyes en- 
countered and impulsively placed a finger on her 
lips. I hadn’t thought of speaking. I was dis- 
gusted. Mrs. Greaves, the Countess and the Am- 


THE SEANCE 157 

bassador all in turn gave me scowling glances. It 
was as if everybody recognised and resented my 
secret scepticism. It appeared I was the only sane 
person in the room. Oh! no, there was Navarro. 
He was Mne enough undoubtedly ; the rogue. He 
was making his living. It was his business to make 
fools of people. I returned to contemplating him 
with a sense of positive relief. At least I could hope 
to be amused. He had closed his eyes and was 
therefore uglier than ever. His whole body was 
tense with silent effort. I wondered if some of 
his audience were unconsciously imitating him. 
They all were, except myself. I felt inclined to 
get up and shake them for a pack of self-delivered 
dupes, lambs self-abandoned to the sacrificial rites 
of this High Priest of Thomas-rot. Soon, friend 
Navarro began to breathe stertorously. So did 
his audience, for a minute or two. Then they turned 
and looked at one another and at me; and I rejoice 
to say my calm smile disconcerted them. But I 
refrained from glancing at Miss Ottley. I could 
not bear to see her look foolish. Perhaps she did 
not. They pointed at one another. They feared, 
it seemed, to speak. .Who would be the first ? And 
who would dare the oracle? The Count von 
Oeltzen arose. Brave, noble man ! He approached 
the couch and took Navarro’s hand in his owa 
The medium was now in a trance. His body 
was quite limp. A breathless silence fell upon the 
gathering. It lasted about four minutes. Then 


158 THE LIVING MUMMY 


Navarro began to speak, not in his ordinary boom- 
ing baritone, but in a high falsetto — his spirit or- 
gan, no doubt. The language employed was Ger- 
man. 

“ I see,” said he, “ a short fat man in the uniform 
of an Austrian courier. He is seated in a railway 
train. He is smoking a cheroot. He has on his 
knees a small, flat iron box. It is a despatch 
box. It contains letters and despatches. He is 

coming to England ” 

** Ah ! ” sighed the Count. 

“ Ah ! Ah ! ” sighed the Countess. 

“ He is on his way to you,” went on Navarro. 
“ The despatches are for you. One of them is in 

a cipher. It relates to your recall. It ” 

But the Count on that instant dropped Navarro’s 
hands as if they had burnt him and abruptly rose up, 
the picture of agitation. He turned and looked at 
the Countess. She stood up, most agitated, too. 
** My friends,” he began. But the Countess said 
‘‘ Hush I ” He bowed to her, bowed to Lady 
Helen and offered his wife a shaking arm. They 
forthwith left the room. It was most dramatic. 
For a little while everybody sat under a sort of 
spell. I was glad, because I felt disinclined to 
break up the party by expressing my views on 
Navarro’s revelation, and if any one had said a 
word I should have been compelled to speak, I was 
so angry that sensible people could allow themselves 
to be imposed upon so easily. Moreover, I wished 


THE SEANCE 159 

to learn what Miss Ottley’s object was. When, 
therefore, Mrs. Greaves quietly arose and moved to 
the couch, I said a little prayer of thankfulness. 

Presently the high falsetto squeaked forth in 
Irish-Spanish-English. “I see— a large building, 
square, very tall. It is made of steel and stone. 
It is in America— in New York. It is a hotel. I 
see in it a room. There are tables and chairs. 
Then one— two— three— four— five— six are there. 
They play cards. The game is poker. One loses. He 
is young. He is English. He has a little cast in 
his left eye. His name is Julian Greaves. The 
floor is littered with cards. Julian Greaves is an- 
noyed because he loses. He ” 

The voice ceased. 

Mrs. Greaves was returning to us. She was 
smiling. She said to Lady Helen in her calm, slow 
way, “I believe, my dear, that my naughty son is 
at present occupied exactly as you have heard de- 
scribed. Signor Navarro has a great gift. Good- 
night, my dear— No, I cannot stay — I promised the 
Bexleys. Do not trouble ’’ 

She had gone. 

Dixon Hubbard walked over to the couch'. I 
glanced at Lady Helen. She was biting her lower 
lip — and holding her breath. I stole across the 
room on tip-toe and sat down beside her. 

“ I see,” said Navarro, after the proper interval, 
‘‘a woman. She is young and very beautiful. 
(Oh! artful Navarro.) Her mind is deeply troubled. 


160 THE LIVING MUMMY 


The person she cares most for despises her. On 
that account she is wretchedly unhappy, although 
she permits no one to suspect it. She is not far 
away. She ” 

But Hubbard had dropped the medium’s hand 
like hot potatoes. 

‘‘ It is your turn, Captain Weldon,” he said, with 
a poor attempt at jocularity. ‘‘ Step forward and 
have the secret of your life laid bare.” 

He gave his wife a scorching glance and saun- 
tered out of the room. 

“ How much did you pay Navarro for that 
last ? ” I whispered in Lady Helen’s ear. 

She gave me a radiant smile. “ Nothing to call 
me beautiful,” she whispered back. 

Weldon had taken the medium’s hands. Im- 
mediately he did so, Navarro heaved a portentous 
sigh. I watched his face very narrowly, and some- 
what to my surprise I observed it to turn to a hor- 
rid, fishy, whitish-yellow colour. Presently his eye- 
lids slightly opened, disclosing the whites. The 
eyes were fixed upwards rigidly. He looked sim- 
ply monstrous. For the first time I doubted his 
mala fides. There were many signs of catalep- 
tic trance about him. I stole over to the foot of 
the couch and inserted a pin into the calf of his leg. 
Not a muscle twitched. Evidently he had hypno- 
tised himself. I tried the other leg, with an equal 
result. I became furious. It seemed just possible 
that the fellow had some esoteric faculty after all. 


THE SEANCE 16 i 

Science, of course, scouts the phenomena of clair- 
voyancy, but in my younger days I had witnessed 
so many experiments with hypnotised subjects in 
Paris that I had ever since kept an open mind on 
the^ question. This time we waited for quite a 
while for the medium to begin his manifesta- 
tions. Perhaps ten minutes passed and he was still 
silent. But by that time I felt convinced of his un- 
consciousness. “Ask him some question, Wel- 
don, I said quietly. “ He is not shamming, I be- 
lieve. In my opinion he is in hypnotic sleep and 
cannot act as his own Barnum.’’ 

Weldon laughed, but before he could adopt my 
hint Miss Ottley glided to the couch and standing 
at the head of it put her fingers lightly on the me- 
dium’s eyes. 

I know what to do/’ she said, looking at me. 

I have seen him in this state before. He is not 
a charlatan, Dr. Pinsent, at least when he is like 
this. Presently you will see. He will astonish 
you, I think.” 

‘‘I wish you’d ask him where the lost key of 
my Saratoga is. May,” whispered Weldon. 

Navarro answered the question instantly, and in 
his natural reverberating baritone. 

It is lying on the top of the canopy of your bed 
in your bedroom in Jermyn Street.” 

By Gad! ” cried Weldon. “ That’s where it is 
as sure as I stand here. I tossed it up there a month 
ago and more — ^and forgot all about it.” 


162 THE LIVING MUMMY 


‘‘Hush!’’ said Miss Ottley. “Think of Dr. 
Belleville, Frankfort, please.” 

Weldon frowned. “You might have chosen a 
pleasanter topic,” he muttered. 

“ Hush ! ” said the girl again. 

A moment later she bent over the medium. 
“Speak!” she commanded. “Tell us what you 
see ! ” 

Navarro sighed. “ I see a large room,” he be- 
gan. “ It is half library, half laboratory. One 
part of it is filled with racks of books and parch- 
ments. At the other end is a dispensary made up 
of shelves containing jars of different oils and 
phials filled with drugs. In the middle of the room 
is a table spread with maps and papyri. The pa- 
pyri are inscribed with hieroglyphics. Beside the 
table, standing on two steel trestles, is a large sar- 
cophagus of lead and iron lined with silver. The 
lid is propped against the wall near by. It is orna- 
mented with the leaden cast of a man. An in- 
scription states that this man is Ptahmes, a high 
priest of Amen-Ra. His body was once enclosed 
within the sarcophagus. It is now, however, re- 
clining on a couch at a little distance from the 
table ” 

“ Describe it ! ” said Miss Ottley. 

“ It is apparently the body of a man of latter 
middle age. It is of great proportions. It is al- 
most seven feet in length. But the body is very 
lank and shrunken and ill nourished. The head is 


THE SEANCE 


163 


of extraordinary shape and dimensions. It is very 
large and long, and broad. It is surmounted by a 
crown of jet-black hair that has recently been cut. 
It tapers like a cone above the temples and again 
like an inverted cone from the cheek bones to the 
chin. The nose is long and hooked like the beak of 
an eagle. The eyes are closed; I cannot see them. 
But they are almond shaped and set far apart in the 
skull. The mouth is shrivelled and almost shape- 
less. The chin is long and pointed. The skin is 
dark brown, almost black. It looks unhealthy. The 
body is clothed in ordinary European garments. 
One arm is fastened in a sling. The chest is, un- 
derneath the clothes, swathed in bandages. On the 
feet are fastened rubber shoes, on the soles of 
which are particles of fresh-dried mud. That is 
all.^’ 

“ Proceed ! ’’ said Miss Ottley. There are liv- 
ing people in the room, are there not ? ” 

‘‘ Two,’' replied the medium after a short pause. 
** One is seated before the table poring over a torn 
piece of papyrus. Beside him on the table is a dic- 
tionary of hieroglyphics to which he constantly re- 
fers. He is a big, thick-set man with black eyes, 
strongly marked features, and a black bushy beard. 
In his hand is a pen. He writes with this pen upon 
the paper before him. He is engaged in trans- 
lating the papyrus. Ha! he stops. He is looking 
up at his companion. He is speaking.” 

What does he say ? ” 


164 THE LIVING MUMMY 

He says, ‘ I cannot altogether reconcile our sub- 
ject’s statements with the records, Ottley. Either 
in his long sleep his memory has somewhat failed 
him, or in his sleep he has learnt more than he 
knew before. It is most annoying; we shall have 
to question him again.’ The other — a little old 
man, with white hair and very bright small grey 
eyes — replies, ‘ You are too damned pernicketty. 
Doctor. Haven’t we the formula, and hasn’t it 
nobly stood the test of practical experience? What 
more do you want? Your infernal curiosity would 
ruin everything if I let you have your way. Once 
for all I tell you that Ptahmes belongs to me, not 
to you. Damn your science ! You’ve had enough 
out of him. 1 11 not allow him' to be used again 
except for my purposes. He has disappointed me 
with the elixir. Well, he’ll have to atone by mak- 
ing me the richest man in the universe. I’ll not 
be satisfied till every shilling in the world belongs 
to me-— every shilling— every shilling.’ The little 
man is now laughing like a lunatic. The big man 
watches him with a frown, bending his big black 
brows together. ‘But you fool!’ he says very 
angrily, ‘do you forget that these things here—’ 
he points to the body of Ptahmes— ‘ will soon wear 
out? Every time that you drive it to work the 
friction sheds into dust a portion of its matter. Is 
it not better to use its brain than its body? Re- 
member that we cannot repair his tissues. Unless 
we make absolutely certain of the composition of 


THE SEANCE 


165 


the invisible oil while we have the chance, we may 
be left stranded in the end. His body is of second- 
ary importance after all. It serves you now, but 
you can just as well serve yourself by using the oil 
and doing your own dirty business. But the 
thing is to make sure of learning how to replenish 
the oil when our stock gives out. That is the all- 
important matter. And that is why his brain 
is of paramount interest to me, and should be to 
you.’ 

‘‘The little man says, — ‘I won’t have it, I tell 
you, we know enough!’ The big man replies, — 
‘Be sensible, Ottley! Remember he lost five 
pounds in weight yesterday! He is melting away 
before our eyes. Come! I’ll make you a proposal. 
Let me do what I like with Ptahmes and I’ll take 
his place for your money-making purposes. I’ll be 
the ghost of the Stock Exchange and find out all 
you want to know. Now, what can be fairer than 
that?’ 

“ The little man is biting his lip. He seems to be 
thinking,” (there was a pause in the narration). 
Presently Navarro went on. “ The little man 
speaks again ; he says : — ‘ That is all very well. Doc- 
tor, but you know as well as I do— that you intend 
to use Ptahmes to destroy your rival. You haven’t 
the courage to do it yourself.’ The big man an- 
swers very quickly, ‘And are you brave enough to 
tackle Pinsent? Yet his existence threatens all 
our plans. I firmly believe he has a notion of our 


166 THE LIVING MUMMY 


ideas already. He is no fool and an adept at put- 
ting two and two together. Do you suppose he 
hasn’t guessed at the reason of the success of your 
enormous transactions on ’Change?’ The little 
man grinds his teeth. ‘ Curse him ! ’ he shouts. 
* Curse him to Hell ! ’ The big man smiles. ‘ With 
all my heart/ he says, ‘may he rot there for ever 
and ever! But all this proves to us how careful 
we should be of the waning strength of our magi- 
cian. Remember the last time he tried odds with 
Pinsent on the Nile he got all the worst of the en- 
counter. Three broken ribs ! It’s true we are more 
advanced in knowledge since then, and now we 
can make him quite invisible. But all the same we 
cannot afford to trifle with the strength of our sub- 
ject, considering the two great tasks before him.’ — 
Ah! ” 

The last expression was a groan. The medium 
moved restlessly, then groaned again. 

“ Proceed ! I command you ! ” said Miss Ott- 
ley in a trembling voice. 

But Navarro for a third time groaned, and he 
began to struggle on the couch. 

“Oh, God! he is waking up!” cried the girl. 
“ Hold his hands tightly, Frankfort. He must tell 
us more! He must, he must! ” 

But Navarro with a sudden spasmodic writhe 
and twist, broke away and sat erect. He was 
shaking like a man in an ague, and he began to pant 
and groan like a wounded animal. 


THE SEANCE 167 

Miss Ottley gasped “Too late!’’ and wrung 
her hands. 

I handed tne medium a glass of water, but he 
was trembling too violently to take it of himself. 
He spilt half the contents on his knee. I forced the 
rest into his mouth. It revived him. A little later 
'he stood up. He was bathed in perspiration, 
and looked sick. But he rejected all* offers of as- 
sistance. He seemed to be very angry. He de- 
clared that we had treated him' most cruelly, and 
that we might have killed him. He would not be 
appeased, and he went off in the care of a footman 
filled with petulant resentment and mouthing stu- 
pid threats. It may have been a pose, part of his 
“ business ” intended for effect to impress his cli- 
ents; — ^probably it was. But I am not sure. He 
certainly seemed to be in a highly over-wrought, 
nervous condition ; he could not easily have affected 
that. 

After he had gone we all sat back in our chairs 
and stared at one another. Nobody was in the least 
haste to speak; we had so much to think about; 
and it was plain that “ Fancy ” — “ Well, I never! ” 
and ejaculations of that ilk did not even begin to 
meet the conversational demands of the occasion. 
Lady Helen was the first to speak. 

She said, “Well, I am trying hard to be art 
ideal hostess and not ask any questions that might 
seem impertinent. But will someone tell me, is it 
Sir Robert Ottley and Dr. Belleville who are mak- 


168 THE LIVING MUMMY 


ing preparations for Dr. Pinsent’s funeral. I wish 
to know real badly, because I want him to do quite 
a lot of things for me before he crosses over the 
divide, and if necessary I shall go to Sir Robert 
and ask him for my sake to give Dr. Pinsent a little 
time to say his prayers.” 

It was just the flippant tone needed to bring us 
back to earth again. Everybody laughed. Every- 
body was so relieved that the laugh was unconven- 
tionally loud, and it had a tendency to overdo it- 
self. 

Then we trotted out the well-I-nevers ! ” 

“ Did you ever hear such a lot of rubbish talk ? ” 
demanded Lady Helen. 

** It quite took my breath away,” said Miss Ott- 
ley with a gallant effort to attain the correct, ap- 
proved, sociably foolish affectation of brainlessness. 

‘‘ The fellow deserves three months without the 
option for his villainous slanders,” said the Cap- 
tain heartily. He was honest, anyhow. ‘‘ Lord 
knows I can’t stand Belleville at any price,” he con- 
tinued. “ But Navarro went a bit too far, by Gad ! 
I never heard anything more malicious in my life 
than his vile insinuations.” 

“A discharged servant,” I observed. ‘‘Malice 
was to be expected from one of Navarro’s type.” 

“ And a foreigner to boot,” said the Captain, in 
the manner of one absolutely clinching an argument. 
“ Ah, well ! ” he suppressed a yawn, “ he enter- 
tained us — and that’s something. Seen the ‘Jap- 


THE SEANCE 


169 


anese Marriage’ yet. Lady Helen? Miss Ottley 
and I did an act or two last night. It’s ripping. 
So — ah! so jolly unusual, don’t you know. You get 
left every time you think something is going to hap- 
pen ; and when you least expect it one of the funny 
little beggars ups and wants to make his friend a 
present of his liver on a plate, or cut off his rival’s 
head, or something.” 

“ Miss Ottley’s carriage,” announced a footman. 

“ I asked for it,” said the girl to Lady Helen. 
“ My father has been very poorly all day.” 

Weldon went away with her. She did not even 
spare me a glance. 

Lady Helen consoled me with the best cigar I 
have ever received at the hands of a woman. 

She lit a cigarette for herself and curled up on a 
pile of cushions. 

“ That man Navarro is a rapacious rascal,” she 
observed presently. ‘'He wouldn’t take a penny 
less than a hundred to say what he did say to 
Dixon. But I did not tell him to call me beauti- 
ful,” she added. 

“ I am glad to be certain that the fellow is a ras- 
cal,” I muttered half underbreath. But she heard 
me. 

‘‘Surely you knew. His ravings did not take 
you in,” she cried scornfully. “Everyone knows 
he simply loathes Sir Robert Ottley. He used to 
be the little old millionaire’s tin god. Sir Robert 
hardly dared to breathe without consulting his 


170 THE LIVING MUMMY 

oracle. And they say the man bled him of thou- 
sands. No wonder he went mad to find that Sir 
Robert had escaped his influence. Ever since then 
he has been saying the most awful things. Lots 
of people believe them, I know, but I never thought 
you would.’’ 

“ I don’t.” I smiled. I could smile now, for I 
felt wonderfully relieved. “ But tell me. Lady 
Helen, just why you employed him to say that to 
your husband ? ” 

She puffed out a cloud of smoke. “ Dixon is 
superstitious at heart,” she replied. ‘‘ He will not 
want to, but he will end by believing what Navarro 
told him.” 

‘‘ What ! that you care for him despising 
you?” 

“Silly!” she cried. “No — not that I care for 
him — ^but for another man despising me — the man 
for whom I care. Have you forgotten Navarro’s 
words ? ” 

“ But why on earth deceive your husband ? ” 

“To make him jealous.” 

“ Of a chimera? ” 

“ No, my friend,” said Lady Helen, smiling very 
strangely. “ Of you ! Remember, you have prom- 
ised to revile me to him. That alone would fix a 
suspicious mind like his on you. But to make 
assurance doubly sure, I told him this afternoon that 
it hurt me very much to find that he had given you 
a poor opinion of me.” 


THE SEANCE 171 

I sprang to my feet, aghast. “ But look here— 
ttiy girl,” I cried. “ This is a dangerous game you 
are playing.” 

“Are you afraid— are you then a coward?” she 
flashed. 

Hubbard is my oldest friend. You will make 
him hate me ! ” I protested. 

“ And you will refuse to risk that for his happi- 
ness and mine ? ” she asked. “ Remember, he is my 
husband, and soured, twisted creature that he is, I 
love him ! ” 

“Ah!” said I. 

I could have made you serve me in ignorance,” 
she cried, ‘‘ but I am incapable of playing you or any 
other save him — a trick like that. However, say 
the word and the play ends — this instant. I have 
no claim upon you. I’ll save you the trouble of 
telling me that. I am only a woman fellow-crea- 
ture, and knight-errants are out of fashion now-a- 
days. Well — ^what is it to be?” 

Her words stung like nettles. Such a little spit- 
fire I had never seen before. But that was the 
proper way to treat me, and I believe she knew it. 
She was as sharp as any needle, that young woman. 

“ I am not in the habit of breaking my word 
once given,” I growled out. “Good-night!” 
Then I stalked off most indignant. But she caught 
me at the door, flung her arms round my neck and 
kissed me on both cheeks. 

“You are a darling,” she whispered. “And— 


172 THE LIVING MUMMY 

well — Dixon will have to hurry and reform — or 
else — but there — go ! ” 

That is the way clever women bind foolish men 
to the furtherance of their caprices. A cuff, a kiss, 
a piece of subtle, thrilling flattery, and the trick 
is done. I was heart and soul in love with another 
woman, and yet from that moment Lady Helen 
Hubbard possessed the right to walk over me, if she 
wished to do it. And, mind you, I am not an out- 
of-the-way brand of idiot as fools go. It’s just a 
matter* of armour and the weak spot. No suit of 
armour ever existed that hadn’t one. Some women 
are born with the faculty of being able to put their 
soft little fingers on those places right away. 


V Chapter XVIII 
The Unseen 

F or my sake, watch ! It is but for two days 
^^nger, the fatal week will then be over. 
Oh! I implore you not to let your scepti- 
cism make you careless. I trust you and depend 
upon you.” .Weldon gave me the note himself. 
It was not signed. He watched me curiously as 
I read it. I tore it up and threw the pieces in the 
grate. 

“Miss Ottley is afraid that your friend Belle- 
ville meditates doing you an injury,” I said care- 
lessly, “ and knowing that I am your guest, she has 
appointed me your guardian angel. Evidently she 
imagines that you are a more sensible person than 
I am. She said nothing about it to you ? ” 

“ No,” replied the Captain. “ But she made me 
promise not to leave your side for the next two 
days.” He gave a sheepish laugh. “I’m afraid 
she has let you in for a lot of boredom', old man. 
But don’t you bother to be polite I If you feel like 
kicking me at any time to relieve your feelings I’ll 
take it lying dovra. You see, I couldn’t help my 
self. She has such a way with her— and although 

ITS 


174 THE LIVING MUMMY 

I argued and protested and begged her to consider 
you — it was no use. I had to give in.’^ 

‘‘ You needn’t apologise, Weldon. I believe I am 
strong enough to survive the infliction, and I prom- 
ise not to kick you. How is Miss Ottley ? ” 

“ She is well, although she seems nervous and 
depressed. That is probably because her father is 
ill and she has been nursing him. You have heard, 
I suppose, of his latest doings ? ” 

“ No. As you are aware, I have not been out 
of doors for two days, and I have carefully re- 
frained from newspapers.” 

“He has cornered the copper market. They 
say his fortune is increasing at the rate of half a 
million a day. But he is not strong enough to bear 
the excitement. In my opinion it is killing him. 
I saw him this afternoon. He looks ghastly. He 
was a little delirious, I fancy. They left me alone 
with him for a moment or two and he took the op- 
portunity to warn me not to sleep to-night if I val- 
ued my life. He said a terrible danger is hanging 
over my head. But Dr. Belleville came in just then, 
and it was surprising how sensible he got again, 
immediately. Naturally I said nothing of this to 
May. It would only have made her miserable. It 
is wonderful how she dotes on the poor old fellow. 
I don’t know what she would do if he were to die.” 
“ How did Belleville treat you ? ” 

“For a wonder with the greatest courtesy. He 
took mg aside and begged me to forget any occa- 


THE UNSEEN 175 

siori of offence. iHe appealed to me as the success- 
ful one — and he gave me his word, unasked, that 
he would never again do anything to hurt May’s 
feelings or mine. After all, he’s not such a bad fel- 
low, Pinsent. One must make allowances. It’s 
not his fault that he is in love with May. He can’t 
help that. My wonder is that every man who 
knows her is not.” 

“ I suppose you forgave him ? ” 

We shook hands, certainly. You wouldn’t 
have me bear malice, would you? Remember! I’m 
in a position to be generous — and he made the ad- 
vance.” 

‘‘ My dear lad,” I answered slowly, ‘‘ I wouldn’t 
have an atom of you changed for worlds. You 
are an absolute ass and all that sort of thing, but 
somehow or other you make me want to be the same 
sort of idiot, and I feel positively ashamed at times 
that I cannot.” 

You should have seen his face flush, and the 
hangdog way he tried to pass over the compliment 
by cursing an untied shoestring and me at the same 
time for trying to “ pull a fellow’s leg.” 

We went for a ride in the park that afternoon, 
and just to be pleasant the Captain forced on me the 
gift of his finest Arab and a permanent stall in his 
stable in which to keep the animal. He knew, the 
dear fool, that I could not afford to keep it myself. 

I believe he would have suffered tortures had I re- 
fused him. But indeed I had no thought. The 


176 THE LIVING MUMMY 


gift completely captivated me; I felt like a child 
with a new toy, and as proud as any peacock. The 
horse was a noble creature. I named him forth- 
with Abd-el-Kadir,'^ and the pair of us spent the 
evening petting him, until it was time to dine. We 
had the gayest possible meal and afterwards went 
to the Empire, reaching home a little before mid- 
night like reputable bachelors. The Captain, as 
usual with him, fell asleep almost as soon as his 
head touched the pillow. But I had a trust to ful- 
fil and, ridiculous as it may seem, as soon as I heard 
young Weldon’s quiet breathing it began to weigh 
upon me. All sorts of mad questions began to 
ask themselves over in my mind. What if Sir 
Robert Ottley and Dr. Belleville had really dis- 
covered some wonderful secret of Nature? What 
if Belleville had really determined to assassinate 
his rival? What if — in that act — ^he purposed to 
make me appear to be the criminal? ^What if — 
as the medium had hinted — they had found a way 
to make themselves invisible ? It was no use calling 
myself names, and saying mentally : “ Pinsent, for 
Heaven’s sake be reasonable.” Something had 
come over me. For the first time in my life I 
was nervous. Mysterious fears obsessed me. 
For an hour I lay on my side and watched the 
Captain. Then I could stand it no longer. I got 
up and stole over to the door. It was locked se- 
curely. I looked under both beds and peered into 
wardrobes and cupboards. When I had perfectly 


THE UNSEEN 177 

convinced myself that Weldon and I were the only 
occupants of the room I felt a little better. But 
only a very little. I resolved to spend the night 
watching. I lighted a cigar and then threw myself 
into an armchair, fixing my eyes on the Captain. 
He slept like a babe. I do not know when it 
was exactly that I became actually aware of a 
third presence in the room. Probably the idea had 
been gradually growing upon me, for I experienced 
no sudden shock of surprise when conviction dis- 
placed doubt. I said to myself, “This person, 
whoever he may be, has come here intending to 
strangle or smother Weldon in his sleep. But my 
watchfulness has baffled him. What will he do?” 
I was soon to be informed. A slight, a very slight, 
noise drew my attention to the farthest corner of 
the room'. Over a little cupboard hung the Cap- 
tain’s sword in his scabbard. The sword, but not 
the scabbard, was moving. The blade was grad- 
ually appearing; and my flesh crept to see that it 
was, apparently of its own volition, moving, not 
downwards, but upwards along the wall. 

I distinctly saw its shadow appear and lengthen 
on the wall. But no other shadow was cast to ex- 
plain the cause. For a moment I was petrified — ■ 
paralysed by an abhorrence of the supernatural. 
Then the sword entirely left the scabbard. It ad- 
vanced slowly, point downwards, borne on air into 
the room. As it moved it swished slightly to and 
fro. The invisible hand that held it must have been 


178 THE LIVING MUMMY 


trembling. The thought recovered me. I stood 
up. The sword stopped. I flashed a glance around 
the room. The poker in the fireplace attracted my 
attention. I gave a sudden bound and reached it. 
The sword flashed across the room towards Cap- 
tain Weldon’s bed. God knows how I got there in 
time to save him, but I did. The point was quiver- 
ing at his throat when I dashed it aside and with 
the return blow crashed the poker upon a hard 
thickness of transparent matter. The clang of steel 
awoke Weldon, but I had no time for him. The 
sword was in retreat. I followed it. It was making 
for the door. I raised the poker for another blow, 
but on the instant the blade fell crashing to the 
boards and I heard the key turning in the lock. I 
hurled myself against the panels and was brought 
up against a body. Thank God, though I could not 
see it I could feel it. It was a man. ‘‘ Weldon ! ” 
I shouted, and was locked in a deadly struggle. 
Over and over we rolled; the invisible man and I. 
Weldon stood over us, looking on like one in a 
dream. He could only see me, and he thought I 
had gone mad and was behaving as maniacs some- 
times do. The invisible man was strong — strong. 
He twined his hands around my throat and I could 
not prevent him. But slowly, steadily, surely, I 
forced his chin back. I wished to break his neck. 
I have an impression he was nude, but cannot be 
sure. I twined my right hand in his hair, with my 
left around his neck. I drew him to me. I was 


THE UNSEEN 


179 

undermost. To save himself he began to beat my 
skull against the boards. It was then that Weldon 
intervened. He seized my wrists and tried to lift 
me up, to save me, as he thought, from doing my- 
self an injury. But all he did was to save the life 
of the invisible man. Weldon’s grasp on my wrists 
forced mine in some measure to relax. I put forth 
all my strength, but in vain. The invisible man 
used his chance and writhed away from me. I 
struggled afoot, casting Weldon off, but too late. 
The door opened before our eyes and our enemy, 
unseen, fled, banging the door behind him. I 
heard the patter of feet as he departed. The Cap- 
tain uttered an oath. “ Oh ! you fool, you fool ! ” 
I cried at him. 

‘‘By George!” gasped Weldon. “Did you see 
that door?” He rushed forward and opened it 
again, peering out into the passage. 

I fell into a chair spent and panting. 

Presently Weldon came back. He picked up his 
sword and examined it. There was a great gap 
in the edge near the point where I had struck it 
with the poker. “What is the meaning of all 
this ? ” he cried. I told him as soon as I was able. 
But from the first he did not believe me, and he 
was honest enough to say so. How could I blame 
him? The story sounded incredible, even to me, 
while I was telling it. Weldon adopted the most 
charitable possible view. I had dreamed every- 
thing and acted the somnambulist. He admitted 


180 THE LIVING MUMMY 


that it was a queer circumstance, the door opening 
and shutting so unexpectedly. But no doubt one 
of the other lodgers in the house had tried it in 
passing — some late bird a bit under the weather, 
Weldon thought — and finding it yield had banged 
it shut again. It was no use retorting that the door 
had been locked— ^eldon merely laughed and asked 
what more likely than that I had turned the latch 
before smashing his best blade? He was quite 
upset about his sword. It had been carried by his 
grandfather at Waterloo. He plainly considered 
the damage I had done to it was the only serious 
occurrence of the night. But he strove, like a hero, 
to keep me from realising just how bad he did feel 
about it. I ceased protesting at last, and aban- 
doned the vain task of trying to convince him' of 
the deadly peril that had menaced him. He re- 
turned the sword to its scabbard and with a subdued 
sigh got back into bed again. Within ten minutes 
he was fast asleep. As for me, I paced the floor 
till morning, thinking, thinking, thinking. I have 
no shame in confessing that I was horribly afraid; 
not of the immediate present, but the future. I 
did not expect our mysterious assailant to return 
that night. But what of the morrow ? I am not a 
believer in the supernatural or I must have set down 
the unseen marauder as a spirit. But I had felt 
and wrestled with the thing, and knew it for a man. 
I had heard the patter of its feet. Moreover, the 
memory of the seance and Navarro’s dramatic reci- 


THE UNSEEN 


181 


tation supplied me with a sort of clue. What if 
Navarro had not been acting, but had really been 
clairvoyant? Who shall dare to define the limits 
of the possible? Was it more marvellous that he 
should have heard and seen things really happening 
in a trance, than that I — in full possession of all 
my faculties — had wrestled with a man invisible in 
the bright glare of an incandescent lamp? I said 
to myself : “ It is necessary to assume that Navarro 
is a true medium, if only for the sake of argument. 
Well, in that case it is clear that Dr. Belleville 
and Sir Robert Ottley had found in the tomb of 
Ptahmes a papyrus containing a tremendous scien- 
tific secret. This secret is one which teaches its 
possessors how to control forces of Nature, in a 
manner which my imagination can only guess at, 
for the production of a physical result which I have 
actually experienced. They have learned how to 
override the laws of light. They have discovered 
a means of not only rendering opaque objects 
transparent, but positively invisible. And they are 
using their secret knowledge to further their ne- 
farious designs. Sir Robert Ottley is using it to 
increase his fortune by spying out the financial 
secrets of his busin'ess rivals. Dr. Belleville is, 
using it to accomplish the destruction of Captain 
Weldon, his rival in love. And, in all probability, 
they both intend it to remove me from their path 
because they fear that I suspect them.” 

It must not be supposed that I adopted these con- 


182 THE LIVING MUMMY 


elusions with any sort of confidence. They entered 
my mind and remained there. But I received them 
churlishly and treated them as unwelcome guests. 
And the only reason that I did not expel them was 
because I could not discover, try as I would, any 
more substantial or sensible explanation of an 
event which they pretended to explain. 

When the dawn broke and the light of day be- 
gan to steal into the room between the shutters I 
looked around and shook my head. After all, had 
I fallen asleep against my will and dreamed the 
whole thing, as Weldon believed ? It might be so. 
The intellect is a strange, elusive, shadowy affair. 
It slips from one’s control at times. The memory 
easily clogs. The imagination is easily overheated. 
And one is not the best judge of one’s own ex- 
periences. Science had taught me so much, at least, 
that one cannot always accept the evidence of sense. 
I began to doubt, to cast about me, and to vote 
myself absurd. With the rising of the sun, I flung 
back the shutters and looked forth on -a vista of 
chimneys and leaded roofs. They were so mani- 
festly real and solid and prosaic that all my brain ex- 
panded to a sense of ridicule except one small part, 
which began to shrivel up under the douche I poured 
upon it, of what I called cold common-sense. But 
it did not entirely shrivel up. It insisted on certain 
reservations. It said to me, “Pinsent, my man, 
there are more things in heaven and earth than 
are dreamt of in your philosophy. You have no 


THE UNSEEN 


183 


right to ill-treat a part of your intelligence which 
— even though it may have erred — served you to 
the best of its ability. And can you be sure it 
erred? If it hap that it did not, you would never 
forgive yourself for flouting it. Be wise in time! 
Don’t prejudge the case! Wait and watch! Take 
precautions ! Guard yourself — and, above all, 
guard your charge ! ” 

I determined to suspend judgment. Above all, I 
determined to guard my charge. But I confess it 
was with a curling lip I made the resolution. There 
is something in sunlight, some all-subduing power 
which irresistibly dries up the fountain springs of 
the imagination. I cannot conceive a novelist 
writing a fanciful story in the sunlight. Can you? 
And the sunlight was pouring into the room when 
I came to my resolve. 


Chapter XIX 
The First Victim 


W HEN IWeldon woke he did one of the 
three things of which only gentlemen 
of the finest sensitiveness are capable. 
He gave me one quick, laughing glance, but per- 
ceiving in my solemn visage a predisposition to re- 
sent badinage, he immediately said, ‘‘ Good-morn- 
ing, old chap. Hope you rested well. As usual, I 
slept like a log — all night.’’ Now, who could help 
liking a man of that stamp? Not I, most certainly. 
And not satisfied with pretending to have forgotten 
Everything, he resolutely refrained from so much as 
glancing at his treasured sword, which I had broken. 
My heart went out to him in such a flood of feel- 
ing that in order to conceal how fond of him I was 
and how grateful, I simply had to be insulting. 

‘‘You needn’t tell me you slept,” I growled. 
“ You snored like a whole sty-full of hogs ” (which 
was a lie). “ It’s a wonder to me you did not wake 
yourself.” 

“ Why didn’t you shy a boot at my head ? ” he 
asked. “ I’m awfully sorry, Pinsent. I can see I 
kept you awake. You look quite washed out.” 

“ Oh I I’m alright, or will be after a hot bath,” 
I replied ungraciously, and left the room. 

184 


185 


THE FIRST VICTIM 

When I returned he had a bottle of champagne 
ready for me, as a pick-me-up; and he was hard 
at work polishing my boots — all this by way of apol- 
ogy. I swallowed some wine and allowed myself 
to unbend. I suggested a ride to work up an ap- 
petite for breakfast. He joyously agreed, so we 
dressed and went out. A gallop in the park made 
us as jolly as a pair of sand boys. We had de- 
jeuner at Verrey’s, and then went to call on Miss 
Ottley. She was out, however, so I dragged my 
charge to an eye specialist in Harley Street. I 
pretended an eyeache and had my eyes thoroughly 
examined. The specialist could find nothing wrong 
with them. On the contrary, he congratulated me 
on a singularly perfect vision. After that we went 
to Weldon's club, dawdled there for a hour and then 
on the suggestion of Lord William Hurlingham, 
commonly known as ‘‘ Bill,” we ran down to 
Maidenhead for a row on the river. It was a per- 
fect day and we enjoyed ourselves amazingly, so 
much so that we lost count of time and were 
obliged to dine at a Maidenhead hotel. It thus 
came about that it was after nine when we strolled 
to the station to return to town. There was a con- 
siderable crowd of holiday-makers on the platform, 
and one party gave us much amusement. These de- 
tails are important to explain what followed. The 
party consisted of half a dozen Jews and as many 
Jewesses. They were all as gorgeously attired as 
if they had been attending a regal audience. But 


186 THE LIVING MUMMY 

their conversation, conducted in tones loud enoug’h 
to provoke general attention, informed us that they 
had been spending the day on the houseboat of a 
certain well-known nobleman of notorious impe- 
cuniousness. 

^ Lord Bill, a bit of a wag, made a remark that I 
did not catch, about the Jews and their nobleman, 
which sent Weldon into a convulsion of laughter. 
He then turned to me and began to repeat it for my 
benefit. Just at that moment the train came rush- 
ing into the station. Weldon stood near the edge of 
the platform with his back to the line, glancing side- 
ways at the Jews and trying to restrain his mirth. 
I had bent my head the better to hear Lord Bill, 
who was a short man, but my eyes were on Weldon. 
Conceive my surprise to observe him stagger back- 
wards of a sudden, as though he had been struck 
on the forehead. He uttered a startled cry and 
clawed the air with both hands. For a brief sec- 
ond he tottered at an angle as though he held on 
to something which supported him. But next in- 
stant, as if carried off his feet by a great rush of 
wind, he went back, back — over the edge of the 
platform, and before I could move a muscle or utter 
a word he had fallen and was lying on the rails 
under the very wheels of the onrushing engine. 
Men shouted, women shrieked. I sprang forward, 
and hardly aware of the peril, would have leaped 
upon the line, but that a dozen hands restrained me. 
It would have meant infallibly my death as well as 


THE FIRST VICTIM 187 

Weldon’s, for the train was not more than a dozen 
feet off. But I was incapable of reasoning at the 
moment I struggled like a madman with my 
captors and broke away from them at last — to stand 
dazedly staring at the engine for some horrid sec- 
onds. It had stopped. But had it ? With a 

great effort I dragged myself forward. The edge 
of the platform was lined with a crowd of white- 
faced, silent people. They made room for me. 
Several railway officials were stooping over a fright- 
ful object lying between the pavement and the near- 
est iron rail. One of them shouted for a doctor, 
and there was an immediate movement in the crowd. 
Two or three men set off through the station at a 
run. I closed my eyes. I had never been so shaken 
in my life. I had never lost my self-control so ut- 
terly. The wheels of the engine had completely 
amputated both poor Weldon’s legs midway be- 
tween the knee and trunk. There followed a hiatus 
in my reckoning. When I came properly to my 
senses I was hard at work tying up the arteries, 
assisted by a medical student who had been a pas- 
senger in the fatal train, and a nurse who had ap- 
parently been holiday-making on th^e river. I re- 
member how anxious she was to save her pretty 
muslin gown from the spouting blood. Presently 
a surgeon who had been called, appeared armed 
with proper instruments. With his aid I hastily 
replaced the imperfect tourniquets I had improvised 
out of kerchiefs and neckcloths with gutta percha 


188 THE LIVING MUMMY 


bandages, and we removed poor Weldon from the 
station to the villa of a gentleman who had chari- 
tably placed his house at our disposal. From the 
very first I felt that there was no hope. Not only 
had my luckless friend lost his limbs and an im- 
mense quantity of blood, but he had suffered inter- 
nal injuries and a severe occipital concussion. 
Within an hour, in spite of all we could do, symp- 
toms of lung congestion supervened. When it be- 
came manifest that no human skill could save, I 
wrote a note to Miss Ottley and sent Lord Bill 
to London to escort her to her lover’s bedside. 

After that there was nothing to do but wait. 
Weldon was deep in a state of coma. I sat down be- 
side him and watched his poor, wan face. Every 
few minutes I administered a stimulant, yet each 
time asked myself what use? And were it not 
better to let him cross the bar in painless sleep than 
try to bring him back for a few moments to the 
agony of suffering and hopeless separation ? Yet I 
was plagued with the most hateful doubts and 
ideas, and so, beyond expression miserable that 
when two hours had gone and I marked his pulse 
failing visibly with the fleeting minutes, I did that 
at length which, perhaps, I should have postponed 
till Miss Ottley’s arrival. But then, it might have 
been too late. Who knows? He opened his eyes 
and looked at me. I could hardly see for sudden 
womanish tears. 

Give me your hand ! ” he whispered. I did so. 


THE FIRST VICTIM 189 

and he pressed within it a hard, bulbous object. 
‘‘ Put in — in your pocket. Keep it safe ! ” he 
gasped. “ It will— ah.” 

I obeyed him without glancing at what he had 
given me. Then I got up and rang the bell. A 
great change had come over him. The surgeon re- 
sponded to my call. 

“ It is the end ! ” he said. 

Weldon broke into a fit of coughing and beat 
the bedclothes with his hands. We bent over him, 
seeking to help and soothe him. The paroxysm 
passed and for a moment he seemed to sleep. Soon, 
however, he gave a strong shudder and opened his 
eyes again. “ Pinsent — ^you will avenge me — you 
have the clue,” he said. It was but a breath, but 
I heard. Yet I cannot say I comprehended. In- 
deed, I thought he wandered. But I answered 
softly: “Trust me, lad!” And at that he smiled 
and lay still, gazing up at me with eyes of deep 
affection. 

“ I have sent for her,” I whispered. 

“Yes,” he sighed. “I know; but she will be too 
late. Tell her — ^not to fret! ” and at the last word 
the light faded from his eyes and he was dead. 

Long afterwards Miss Ottley came into the 
room. She was pale, but invincibly composed. I 
gave her his message and left her alone with the 
dead. The owner of the house. Lord Bill and the 
surgeon led me out into the garden. They spoke to 
me in decorous hushed voices for a while, then let 


190 THE LIVING MUMMY 


me be. I walked up and down the pathway till 
break of day, and what I thought about I cannot 
tell. I remember being closely questioned by a 
policeman. Then Miss Ottley took my arm and we 
walked to the station. I thought it my place to be 
kind to her, yet she was kind to me. 

“ One might think you cared, ’’ she said, and 
smiled into my face. We got into a train and as 
soon as it started Lord Bill broke out crying. He 
declared that Weldon was the best fellow in the 
world and that he would miss him dreadfully. Then 
he said in the midst of life we are in death, and 
laughed, and without asking permission, he began 
to smoke a cigarette. It is strange how differently 
people are affected by emotion. I was mentally 
dazed, and I fancy part of my brain was benumbed. 
Miss Ottley was poignantly awake, but her pride, 
and her strength of mind served her for a mask. 
Lord Bill, on the other hand, acted as responsively 
to his feelings as an infant. And yet each of us 
behaved naturally. I reflected on these things all 
the way to town. Lord Bill bade us farewell at 
the station. Miss Ottley and I drove to her home 
in a hansom. During the drive she spoke about 
the funeral quite calmly and mentioned poor Wel- 
don’s love for big, red roses. His coffin should b^ 
smothered in roses, she declared. 

When I helped her to the pavement, she pointed 
up at a window that was open. ‘‘ Dr. Belleville’s 
room,” she said, and smiled. ‘‘ He is enjoying 


THE FIRST VICTIM 19 l 

his triumph. He kept his word to the letter. It is 
the seventh day. The seventh day, Hugh Pinsent • 
that is a terrible man. How shall I possibly with- 
Stand him?’’ 

I shook my head. ‘‘ You are wrong,” I an- 
swered dully. “ He is not responsible for this. It 
was an accident.” 

, ‘‘Are you sure?” she asked. 

“I am sure of nothing,” I replied. ‘'But it 
seems to me an accident — ^and yet. But there. I 
am incapable of reasoning in my present mood. I 
shall see you again. In the meanwhile — think of 
Weldon’s last words to you and do not grieve too 
much!” 

“And you?” 

I shrugged my shoulders. “ I have never felt 
more miserable. And already I am beginning to 
fancy I might have saved him.” 

“ How?” 

“By going yesterday to your father and Dr. 
Belleville and forcing them at the muzzle of a re- 
volver to tell me things they know and which I 
want to know.” 

You rave, she muttered coldly, and slowly 
climbed the steps. 

I followed her and rang the bell. 

If you persist in thinking my father a bad man, 

I never want to speak to you again,” she whis- 
pered. 

There were steps, in the passage. I took off 


192 THE LIVING MUMMY 


my hat to her. I must mend my thoughts,” I 
said. 

The door opened and Dr. Belleville appeared upon 
the threshold. 

The girl gave him a quick look before which he' 
quailed. But he recovered quickly. ‘‘ I sincerely 
trust you bring good news,” he said, in tones of 
deep concern. 

‘‘ The best,” answered Miss Ottley, and drawing 
in her gown she swept past him with a glance of 
bitter hate, into the house. 

Belleville looked after her, then turned to me, 
plucking at his jetty beard and frowning heavily. 

‘‘Weldon is better?” he inquired. 

“ He is dead,” I said. 

“ Poor, poor fellow,” sighed Dr. Belleville. “ I 
am greatly pained to hear it. You were his friend, 
were you not, Pinsent? I can see that you are 
upset. Won’t you come in and have a glass of 
brandy? you look quite done up.” 

“ No, thank you,” I answered. “ I must get 
home and change these bloodstained clothes — there 
is to be an inquest this afternoon. Good-morning.” 

“ Good-morning ! ” he replied. He was staring 
at the bloodstains to which I had purposely di- 
rected his attention. But he did not give a sign 
of agitation. His face remained as expressionless 
as wood. 


Chapter XX 

Lady Helen’s Medicine Operates 

O N arrival at Jermyn Street I changed my 
clothes and, having collected all my be- 
longings, I repaired at once to Dixon 
Hubbard's flat. I could not endure the thought of 
spending one unnecessary moment in my poor dead 
friend’s abode. I saw his honest face and gay, 
mirth-filled eyes in every corner; and he smiled at 
me from every dark nook and shadow of the trophy- 
covered walls. Hubbard received me with his usual 
frozen politeness. He was still in bed. But I felt 
an overmastering desire for human sympathy, so 
I ignored his manner and told him- what had 
passed. He was sorry, I think. He had only met 
Weldon twice, and had merely exchanged a word 
or two with him, but he admitted having felt 
drawn to the bright and manly lad ; and though he 
said little, it could be seen that he was shocked 
to hear of a death so untimely and on all accounts 
so utterly regrettable. And he strove to cheer me 
in his way. After a long silence, he suddenly re- 
marked on the iron-bound remorselessness of fate. 

“ There,” he said, ‘‘ was a young fellow just about 
to taste his cup of long-anticipated happiness. A 
man with many friends and no enemies ; universally 
193 


194. THE LIVING MUMMY 


liked and respected. Yet destiny, without warning, 
dashed the cup for ever from his lips. And one can- 
not console oneself with the reflection that he has 
been spared the pain and shame of finding the con- 
tents bitter-sweet and mixed with dregs; for the 
girl loved him, I am told, and she was good to look 
upon, and honest-hearted. What is the meaning 
of it all ? Omar laughingly declares that the Potter 
is a Good Fellow and ’twill all be well. But how 
many pots have encountered that experience ? Have 
I — though still Pm here ? And you ? Pm all awry. 
The Potter’s hand shook in making me. As for 
you, you started straight, but you grow more 
crooked every day and it’s not your fault; you are 
a helpless dough puppet in the hands of destiny.” 

“You think I grow crooked?” I asked, sur- 
prised. “ Mentally? ” 

“Morally,” he answered, with a sneer. “You 
picked a foolish quarrel to leave me, and now you 
are back again. Why?” 

“ Can you tell me ? ” 

“ I have a theory,” he said, with kindly eyes. 
“ Tell me if I am wrong. My wife has become 
interested in you. She has marked you for a vic- 
tim. At first you were unwilling. You could not 
even bear to be near me. But now you are more 
callous.” 

“ You are wrong,” I replied — ^then suddenly re- 
membered that I had given a solemn promise to 
Lady Helen. 


THE MEDICINE OPERATES 195 


No doubt Hubbard marked the change in my ex- 
pression. His sneer grew more pronounced. But 
I had a task to get through somehow. 

Lady Helen, with all due deference to you, 
Hubbard,” I said slowly, ‘‘ is not a woman I could 
ever care about. I feel certain she is even less in- 
terested in me than I am in hen But even were the 
reverse the case with her, as you suspect, what odds? 
I have the utmost contempt for her; and I think 
that she deserves — but there, you have the misfor- 
tune to be her husband, so I’ll say no more.” 

His face was scarlet. ‘‘ What reason have you 
to despise her ? ” he demanded. 

“ Is it not enough that she has most unwarrant- 
ably caused you a great deal of unhappiness?” I 
retorted. Besides, you have told me sufficient 
of her character to convince me that she is one of 
those flighty butterfly women whom all honest 
men regard with only one step short of loath- 
ing.” 

“ And you are an honest man ? ” he sneered. 

‘‘ I try to be,” I answered modestly. 

He was furious. In order to hide it, he sprang 
out of bed, flung on his dressing-gown and rushed 
to the bath. I thought of Lady Helen’s acute pre- 
vision of the event, and almost contrived to smile. 
Hubbard had come within an ace of defending his 
defamed wife with naked fists on my impertinent 
face, according to the simple rules of the Supreme 
Court of Appeals of primeval unlettered aborigines. 


196 THE LIVING MUMMY 


We tabooed the subject by tacit consent for the 
remainder of the forenoon, but Hubbard announced 
his intention of accompanying me to the inquest, 
and as soon as wS were seated in the train he 
opened fire again. 

‘‘ I am afraid I have given you an exaggerated 
idea of Lady Helen’s shortcomings,” he commenced, 
looking anywhere but at me. ‘‘ I am' afraid I have 
created a false impression in your mind. I don’t 
want you to consider her entirely blameworthy, 
Pinsent; if she were that I should long ago have 
ceased to care a pin for her.” 

I shrugged my shoulders and looked out of the 
window. 

He went on presently. I’m afraid, Pinsent, I 
have done a foolish thing, perhaps even a caddish 
thing, in telling you anything about our private 
quarrel. It did not occur to me at the time that I 
might prejudice you against her. To be honest, 
there were faults on both sides, and if you knew 
all you might consider me the more deserving of 
censure, her the more deserving of pity.” 

My dear old chap,” I answered solemnly, 
‘‘have I known you all these years for nothing? 
All you have said only the more assures me of 
your chivalry and generosity and tenderness of 
heart, and makes me feel the angrier at her insen- 
sate incapacity to appreciate your qualities. I grant 
you that you hide yourself at times behind a mask 
of surliness, but do you mean to tell me that any 


THE MEDICINE OPERATES 197 

true woman, any woman, indeed, even such a frivo- 
lous creature as she has proved herself to be, could 
have failed to penetrate so transparent a disguise? 
I can t believe it, my boy. In my opinion. Lady 
Helen knows you perfectly for what you are. But 
instead of responding with an equal or similar no- 
bility of mind, at the instance of her innate selfish- 
ness she is using her knowledge to put upon you, 
to hurt you, to trifle with you, and to drain your 
purse, all that she may pass the sort of existence 
she prefers without the wheel-brake of your tute- 
lage.” 

Hubbard moved uncomfortably in his seat. He 
frowned and bit his lip. Then he coughed and 
put up a hand to his brow. 

‘‘ Damme! ” at length he blurted out. “ You’re 
as wrong as you can be. It was I who insisted on 
the separation.” 

“ But she forced you to it. She broke her mar- 
riage vow of obedience, by refusing to accept the 
rules of life that you had planned.” 

I prescribed conditions which she characterised 
as grossly unreasonable and unfair. I am by no 
means sure now that she was not right.” 

“ Nonsense, Hubbard. It’s a woman’s first duty 
to obey and cleave to her husband at all costs and 
whatever be the consequences or fancied conse- 
quences to her comfort or convenience. Marriage 
imposes that obligation on the woman in its sacra- 
mental character. It is a sacred obligation and iti 


198 THE LIVING MUMMY 


cannot be violated without the guilt of crime. I 
could have no mercy on such a criminal.” 

Hubbard unbuttoned his coat and threw back the 
lapels. He seemed hot. He puffed out his cheeks 
and began to fan himself with a newspaper. 

‘‘ Lord ! ” he muttered. ‘‘ ;What strait-laced ideas 
you have of matrimony. Upon my soul I cannot 
follow you. They are out of date. There was a 
time, perhaps, when they were necessary. But 
now! My dear Hugh, you should reconsider the 
matter. Your views are somewhat narrow. For 
years past the world has been allowing an ever-in- 
creasing license to woman. And who shall say that 
it is wrong! Woman is a reasoning, responsible 
being. I ” 

Nonsense, Hubbard,” I interrupted. Woman 
is the weaker vessel, and the more she is restricted 
the better for her own protection. Look at the 
Divorce Court ! Thousands of marriages are every 
year dissolved. That is all owing to the greater 
freedom which men have conceded woman of latter 
years. Divorce was, comparatively speaking, an 
unknown quantity when men asserted the right to 
confine their wives in proper bounds and forced them 
to observe and practise the domestic virtues both 
for occupation and amusement. Look around you 
and consider what has been brought about by the 
unwise relaxation of the old, sound laws! A race 
of social moths and drones and gad-flies has been 
created, whose chief business in life it is to amuse 


THE MEDICINE OPERATES 199 

themselves; whose pleasure it is to spend money 
often earned with difficulty by devoted fools; whose 
delight it is to ensnare and to deceive their former 
tyrants ; whose estimate of motherhood is an avoid- 
able and loathsome human incident ; whose morality 
is a resolution to preserve their immorality from 
public criticism; whose faith is a shibboleth com- 
posed of superstitious formulae, and whose religion 
is occasionally to attend divine service in some 
fashionable church arrayed in the latest thing in 
headgear and a chic French gown.” 

Hubbard straightened his shoulders. His ex- 
pression had grown quite superior during my tirade, 
and when it was over, it was plain that he looked 
down on me from the heights of a philosophic 
Aconcagua. 

“ I would not advertise those opinions if I were 
you,” he observed with a slight sneer. “ They have 
a grain of truth in them, but not enough to conceal 
the brand of special advocate. I suppose you do 
not wish to be regarded as a social reformer ? ” 

‘‘ I shall be content to reform one woman — if 
ever I marry,” I answered, with a straight face, 
though it was hard to keep it straight. 

‘‘ She has my unmeasured sympathy,” said Hub- 
bard. ‘‘Once upon a time I was a woman-hater 
—but in my most uncharitable moments I was 
never such a fool as you. You will forgive my 
plain speaking ? ” 

“ Certainly, Hubbard, certainly. You are not re- 


200 THE LIVING MUMMY 


sponsible. It is plain to me that Lady Helen has 
bewitched you. One of these days you’ll be lauding 
her as a creature of incomparable excellences — a 
very paragon of merit and a pattern of the virtues. 
I can see it coming. I am sorry, for, of course, 
I know what she is.” 

Hubbard turned crimson. He snapped his teeth 
together and rapped out : See here, Pinsent, we 
are very old friends, but I’ll be damned if I allow 
you to disparage my wife. Is that plain?” 

I took out my cigarette case. ‘‘ Perfectly,” I 
murmured. 

He glared at me for a moment, then scowled 
still more blackly and growled deep in throat : “ I 
can’t think what has come over you. You haven’t 
the least right or cause to hate her. It’s positively 
unmanly. Especially as she thinks of you far more 
highly than you deserve. She feels it, too. You 
must have shown her how you regard her. She 
made me feel a brute.” 

“ Look here, Hubbard,” I cried, with a nicely as- 
sumed show of indignation, ‘‘ I want to oblige 
you and I want to keep the peace between us, but 
I shan’t be able to if you keep on defending her 
when you know as well as I — ^ — ” 

‘‘ What ? ” he thundered. 

“ That she is a butterfly ! ” I thundered back. 

“ She is not ! ” he shouted. 

“She is!” I said. 

“ You, you, you imbecile ! ” spluttered my poor 


THE MEDICINE OPERATES 201 

friend. “ I tell you once and for all that is only 
one phase of her. I don’t like it, I admit,” (he be- 
pn to cool off), “ but still it is only a phase. She 
is in reality a woman of great depth of character.” 
(He was quite cool by this.) “ I had a conversation 
with her the other night that astonished me. Of 
course, I have always known that she is an educated 
woman, but the extent of her knowledge had pre- 
viously escaped me. She has a much more than 
superficial acquaintance with the modern forms of 
speculative philosophy. She has read Kant and 
Spencer and Nietzsche with understanding; and she 
is now engaged in the study of Egyptian history. 
You have interested her deeply in the subject.” 

I shrugged my shoulders. “And from all this 
you conclude ? '' 

“ That I have been an idiot not to recognise 
long ago that she is my intellectual equal. And I 
have treated her as if she were an irresponsible 
child.’’ 

“ But she is a woman.” 

‘ Quite so,” replied this converted woman-hater, 

“ and because she is a woman, and such a woman, 
she has the power to bless the man fortunate enough 
to win her — her affection — as few men are blessed. 
Now you can appreciate my position. I have 
blindly sacrificed my chance. I ” 

^‘Pish!” I interrupted. ‘‘Tell her what you 
have told me and be blessed! You’ll repent it all 
your life through.” 


202 THE LIVING MUMMY 


It is too late/’ he groaned. “ I have been 
weighed in the balance and found wanting. Pride, 
if nothing else, would always prevent her from 
forgiving me. She — liked me once, I think — ^but 
now — ^ ” He cleared his throat and forced a wry 
smile. ‘‘ She looks upon me as her treasurer and 
friend. It was my own choice. I have no right 
to grumble.” Then he burst out suddenly, “ But 
it’s damnable, Pinsent, damnable ! ” 

Lady Helen’s medicine was working like a charm. 
I thought it best to let well enough alone. So I 
made a rude effort and changed the conversation. 
We soon reached our journey’s end. 

The inquest was a nightmare dreamed by day. 
The courtroom was filled with poor Weldon’s rela- 
tives. His father, the old baron, ostentatiously 
turned his back on me. He seemed to think me 
in some way responsible for his son’s fate. Wel- 
don’s sisters, too, whom I knew slightly, vouch- 
safed me no sign of recognition. His younger 
brother — now the heir — was the only member of 
the family who extended the slightest token of 
civility. He was so manifestly delighted at the 
unlooked-for promotion of his prospects that I read 
in his warm hand-grip a secret paean of joy. He 
had been intended for that limbo of younger sons 
and blue-blooded incompetents, the bar. Happily, 
the inquest was soon over. I was only in the box 
five minutes, and a quarter-hour later the verdict 
was recorded: “Accidental death.” 


THE MEDICINE OPERATES 20B 


Hubbard and I returned at once to London. 
There arrived, I plunged into work upon my book 
and for a space of two days I managed to forget 
that the world contained anything but steles and 
obelisks and mural hieroglyphic inscriptions which, 
though always half obliterate with time, had some- 
how or other to be made sense of and translated 
into English prose. 


Chapter XXI 

Hubbard’s Philosophy of Life 

W ELDON’S funeral was held on the 
afternoon of the third day following his 
death. His body was interred in the 
vault of his family at their seat at Sartley, in 
Norfolk. I was not invited to attend, but I felt 
I had to go. Miss Ottley was there with her 
father and Dr. Belleville. She was clad in deep 
mourning, and her face was thickly veiled. One of 
Weldon’s sisters sobbed throughout the ceremony, 
yet I do not think she felt her brother’s loss half 
as deeply as. I did. I heard her whisper to her 
neighbour once — between sobs — (I knelt immedi- 
ately behind her) — ‘‘ Have you ever seen such cal- 
lousness — ^not a tear, not a sigh ? ” She was refer- 
ring to Miss Ottley. I spent the rest of the after- 
noon on the cliffs beside the sea. I did not wish to 
return by the same train as the Ottleys, but destiny 
ruled otherwise, although I waited for the last. It 
seemed that Sir Robert had overtaxed his strength 
and had been obliged to rest. I had hardly taken 
my seat when he was helped into the same com- 
partment by Belleville and the porter. They made 
him comfortable with cushions, without observing 
me; but Miss Ottley started as she entered, and 

204 


HUBBARD’S PHILOSOPHY 205 

raised her veil. You! ” she muttered, then paused 
as if in doubt, eyeing Belleville. A second later 
she let fall her veil again and sat beside me. , With- 
out asking anyone’s permission, Belleville turned 
down the light, leaving the compartment in com- 
parative obscurity. The porter muttered thanks 
for the tip and, departing, locked the door. 

Plainly my presence had passed unnoticed. • But 
an exclamation from Belleville soon showed he had 
discovered me. “ Excuse me, sir,” he said, this 
carriage has been specially reserved.” Then he 
recognised me. ‘‘ Oh ! ” he cried. ‘‘ You— but ” 

But the train had begun to move. I sank back in 
my corner. Belleville took the corner opposite. In 
a few minutes Sir Robert complained of the light, 
in the manner of a sick man. Belleville sprang up 
and put it out altogether. The darkness now was 
absolute. 

“ If you will take this side, I can make you 
comfortable ; there is a cushion to spare,” said Belle- 
ville’s voice. He was not addressing me. 

“I prefer to remain where I am, thank you,” 
said Miss Ottley, in a frigid tone. 

Belleville sat down silently. Now and then I 
caught the glimmer of his eyes from the reflection 
of passing lights, or the glow of the engine smoke 
and steam, wind-blown beside the train. He was 
staring into the corner which I occupied. I felt his 
hatred wrap and heat me like a coat composed of 
nettles. And the man had occasion, for ere long 


206 THE LIVING MUMMY 


Miss Ottley’s hand stole to mine, and she sighed 
when mine enclosed and pressed it close. Belle- 
ville could not have known, yet he must have felt 
we were in sympathy opposed to him — ^just as I felt 
his hostile influence. It was a silent ride, but not 
uninteresting. Twice Belleville unexpectedly struck 
a match and flashed it in our faces. But my rug 
covered the occupation of our hands. Once in- 
stinct warned me that he was bending forward, 
peering and prying. I raised my foot and brushed 
it in his beard. He fell back, coughing, to prevent 
himself from cursing. It was in that moment prob- 
ably that he resolved upon my death, for I was 
unable to restrain a low, grim laugh. Sir Robert 
slept always, even when we paused at stations on 
the road. At those times Belleville and I exchanged 
pretty courtesies. He would offer me his flask, or 
I would offer him a cigarette. We both refused 
these charming civilities, but our manner was so 
densely sugar-coated that there might have been 
detected by a skilled psychometrist a scent of honey 
in the air. And our eyes beamed upon each other 
with the sweetest friendliness. Needless to say, 
whenever the engine whistled or the train slowed 
down Miss Ottley's hand left mine. She only spoke 
to me once, and that was on the London platform, 
while Belleville was assisting her father from the 
car. 

“Do not go out ever between three and five!” 
she muttered behind her veil, without looking at me. 


HUBBARD’S PHILOSOPHY 207 

“ I shall come as soon as I can. Do not call on me ! 
Do not reply ! Just say good-bye ! ” 

®®y good-bye, 

Miss Ottley,” I announced in ordinary tones. “ You 
might be good enough to let me know your opinion 
of my book at your leisure, for I value your opinion. 
You will have an advance copy in a week or two.” 

“ Most certainly. Dr. Pinsent. It is kind of you 
to remember your promise. Good-bye ! ” 

I lifted my hat and left her; nodding* to Belle- 
ville as I passed. He looked surprised, also dis- 
trustful, but he said something polite. Sir Robert 
saw me, but chose to ignore my existence. 

I walked home to Bruton Street and found Hub- 
bard ensconced before the fire. The night was 
chilly enough to warrant one, despite the season. 
He was staring gloomily into the heart of the glow- 
ing coals. 

I helped myself to a glass of whisky and took 
an armchair beside him. 

I can t stand this. 1^11 go abroad,’’ he an- 
nounced at the end of a good half hour. 

‘‘ What’s the matter, Hubbard ? ” 

“Oh! I’ve been there again. I couldn’t keep 
away. She was alone, for a wonder.” 

You refer to your wife, I suppose. Well ? ” 

He allowed me to finish my cigar before reply- 
ing, then he said: “I have no business to tell you, 
but I shall. She is in love, and I believe with you.” 
Nonsense.” 


208 THE LIVING MUMMY 


‘‘I wish it were,” he answered dreamily, “but 
it is hot. She has practically admitted it.” 

“ That — she cares for me?” I cried. 

“ No — ^but for someone. And I am not so great 
a fool that I cannot read between the lines, al- 
though she thinks so. Her thoughts dwell con- 
stantly on you.” 

“ Impossible ! ” 

He turned and gazed at me. “ It’s so, old man, 
upon my honour.” 

“ You are mistaken, Dixon.” 

“ I know you are as true as steel,” he muttered. 
“ That is why I do not even feel a wish to thwart 
the fates. I am nothing but an interloper, a mar- 
plot. I ought to efface myself. When I am strong 
enough I shall. But I wish you’d be frank with 
me — Hugh, entirely frank. You think you despise 
her now, but you are sure you have no other feeling 
deep at heart? Think well before you answer, 
Hugh!” 

“,Why?” 

“Because if I were sure that you cared, too, I 
would find my happiness in helping. You are 
worthy of her — and she — as God hears me, is 
worthy of the best man living.” 

“ Dixon ! Dixon ! ” 

“ Oh ! I know this must sound oddly from my 
lips. But though I’ve been a fool, I’m wiser now. 
I hold a purer, finer faith; a human faith. And it 


HUBBARD’S PHILOSOPHY 209 

is now my deep belief that the greatest crime of 
all is the prevention of the fullest union of 
predestined mates — and all that sin entails— the 
birth of children generated by the fires of lust and 
hate upon the copperplate of physical and psychical 
indifference; the production of a race prenatally 
ordained to be degenerates; the determination of 
unhappy souls galled into madness by their chains, 

• — their ultimate destruction.’^ 

He got suddenly afoot and raised his hands on 
high. ‘‘I tell you, Hugh!” he cried, with eyes 
afire, “there is no surer way to damnation, no 
surer path. We are born into this world for one 
strong purpose which is told us by our hearts if 
we will hear them. And this concerns ourselves 
not half so much as our potentialities of helping by 
their proper use the unborn spirits placed by Provi- 
dence at our control and mercy. It is then for us 
to choose if we will be servants of the good, to 
assist in their perfection, or the servants of the evil 
to promote their desolation and to advance the 
stages of their ruin. No human being has the right 
to bring any but a love child into the world. That 
which is not a love child is a child of hate. There 
is no course between. And because the father of 
a child of hate is a criminal for whom there is 
no punishment conceivable, to a finite mind, acute 
enough on earth his expiation of his crime will but 
begin at death. You laugh at me.” 


210 THE LIVING MUMMY 


‘‘ On the contrary/’ I answered gravely, “ I ac- 
cord with you.” 

“ Then you admit my duty. I should stand 
aside? ” 

“Ay — but first be sure, my friend! You love 
your wife; she may love you.” 

“ I am sure that she does not. But you ? It is 
time, Hugh, that you answered me.” 

I stood up and put a hand on his shoulder. “ I 
love with all my strength another woman,” I said 
slowly. “ And just as sure I am that I love her am 
I that she loves me. Are you answered ? ” 

He stared at me, and in the moment that my eyes 
held his, his face grew dull and grey. “ My poor 
Helen,” he muttered, “ I had hoped to help her to 
her happiness.” 

“At— any cost?” I demanded. 

“ Yes, yes,” he said. 

“ Death?” 

“I would have welcomed it,” he groaned, and 
turning, he went slowly from the room. He walked 
like an old, old man. I had never admired him so 
little, nor liked and pitied him so much. Straight- 
way I wrote a note to Lady Helen and, going out, 
posted it myself. It contained only these three 
words: “ It is time.” I could trust a woman of her 
proven cleverness to understand. 


Chapter XXII 
The Dead Hand 

I EXPECTED Miss Ottley next afternoon, and 
Hubbard, as though aware I wished to be 
alone, went out soon after three. But she did 
not come. Hubbard returned an hour after mid- 
night. He kept me awake by tramping about his 
room until far into the small hours. Next morning 
I found the library filled with corded boxes and 
Hubbard’s man padlocking the last of them. ‘‘ Mas- 
ter’s gone to France, and I’m to follow,” he an- 
nounced with an air of suppressed exultation. He 
left this letter for you.” 

The letter contained these lines : “ I know you 
at length for the cunning scamp you are. How 
you must have laughed at me. But I forgive you. 
We shall be away a year, at least. As always, every- 
thing I have is yours. Let us find you here on our 
return. I cannot write more. My heart is too 
full. Pinsent, she loves me ! D. H.” The last 
three words were deeply underlined. By the end 
of that week I had completed the revision of my 
book and forwarded the manuscript to Mr. Coen. 
Afterwards, I was uncomfortably lonely and unoc- 
cupied. I waited in from three to five every after- 
211 


213 THE LIVING MUMMY 


noon, but no one came. The rest of the days I 
spent wandering about the streets nursing the long 
sickness of too much thinking. The end of it was, 
I disobeyed Miss Ottley and went one afternoon 
to call on her. I might as well have saved myself 
the trouble. She was ‘‘out,’' likewise her father 
and Dr. Belleville. Two days later I called again. 
Again everyone was out. Then I wrote a guarded 
note and sent it with an advance copy of my book, 
asking for an expression of her opinion. After 
much waiting, I received a long typewritten dis- 
quisition challenging on apocryphal authority my 
attribution of a stele superscribed by Amen-aken 
to the fourteenth dynasty. It was signed by Miss 
Ottley, but I failed to recognise it as her compo- 
sition. One evening, however, having nothing else 
to do, I applied to its verbiage the simple rules of 
a well-known cipher. This, gave me an astonishing 
result. “ Impossible see you without endangering 
your life. Constant supervision.” But it was 
worth testing the matter further. I therefore 
composed a formal reply to the challenge, showing 
my reasons for concluding that Amen-aken had un- 
warrantably altered for purposes of his own 
glorification the historic record of a predecessor. I 
used the same cipher and embodied the following 
message by its aid : “ Shall pass the house before 
midnight Friday. Throw letter from window ex- 
plaining all ! I live to serve you.” This document 
I forwarded to Miss Ottley enclosed in a letter in 


THE DEAD HAND 


213 


which I took pains to show that I had been disap- 
pointed by her criticism, and that I was not anxious 
for the correspondence to be continued. Then I 
waited as patiently as possible for Friday to come 
round. The hours passed with leaden feet, but they 
passed — and midnight found me in the lane walking 
slowly by the house. It was wrapped in gloom from 
roof to basement, but her window was open. As the 
clocks began to chime, a white thing flashed out 
and fluttered to my feet. It was a kerchief weighted 
with a golden bracelet. I felt a paper crinkle in its 
folds. Hastily concealing it within my coat, I 
pressed on and returned by a circuitous route to 
Bruton Street. Soon I was poring over my treas- 
ure. It was typewritten like the challenge. It 
read : ‘‘ I have been obliged to typewrite this, be- 
cause I am a close prisoner and am forbidden the 
use of pen or pencil. But they make me work as 
their stenographer some hours each day — and I was 
forced to seize the opportunity so presented. Thank 
God you understood the cipher. If you love me give 
out that you proceed immediately to Egypt. Then 
go to Paris and return to London under another 
name and well disguised. Take lodgings East ; and 
wait until you see in Personal Column of Daily 
Wire directions addressed to ‘ D. Menchikoff ! ’ Fol- 
low them implicitly ! Am in power of fiends. Open 
opposition perilous. Must allay suspicion. Other- 
wise forced immediate marriage B.” Here the mis- 
sive ended. 


214. THE LIVING MUMMY 


I sat down before the fire and thought hard for 
some minutes. The paper was crunched up in my 
hand. Suddenly the door opened. I turned my 
head at the sound of the creak, but could see no 
one. What could have opened the door? I heard 
the sound of caught breath, a foot on the door 
and a sigh. In a flash I understood. I had been 
seen by my enemies picking up the letter in the 
street, and they had sent their invisible messenger 
to win it from me. Quick as thought I thrust the 
paper in the flames and sprang afoot. There fol- 
lowed a deep-voiced oath and a rush of air fanned 
my face. I struck out with all my strength right 
and left, half beside myself with rage and fear. But 
my blows encountered nothing tangible, and a sec- 
ond later the door banged shut. I was so unnerved 
that I simply walked over and locked it. How can 
a man fight with an enemy he cannot see? or even 
follow him? When my hands stopped shaking I 
began to pack up my trunks. I resolved to follow 
Miss Ottley's bidding to the letter. To-morrow I 
would announce my departure for Egypt and cross 
the Channel in order to put Belleville off the track. 
Meanwhile I ransacked my wardrobe. Presently 
I received a shock. From an unremembered corner 
in a chest I brought out the clothes I had worn 
on the day of poor Weldon’s death. They were 
covered with dyed bloodstains, the blood of my 
dead friend. I placed them on the table and eyed 
them, shuddering. My mind, as if spell-compelled, 


THE DEAD HAND 


215 


reviewed all the details of Weldon’s death. I saw 
him stagger back, back, and fall beneath the wheels 
of the onrushing locomotive. I heard his dying 
shriek. Once more I struggled desperately, but 
alas! how vainly with the dark angel, for his life. 
Once more, as the end approached, I saw his glazed 
eyes open and look into mine. Once more I heard 
his dying words — ‘‘ Give me your hand ! ” 

And but — God in Heaven! How could I ever 
have forgotten it ! Had he not given me something 
— something I had put in my pocket half uncon- 
sciously without looking to see what it was — some- 
thing he had implored me to “ keep safe.” 

I felt my senses rock at the recollection; and 
then I went hot all over with shame, to think of 
my neglect, my inattention. Until that moment — 
despite his dying direction, I had utterly forgotten 
his sad trust. And the thing he had given me to 
keep — ^where was it now? Where, indeed, but in 
the pocket of that coat where I had placed it. Oh ! 
It was safe enough, no doubt — but that did not ab- 
solve me. For weeks I had been a recreant trustee. 
I had, I saw it now, I had been a coward. I felt 
his death so much that I had resolutely put all 
thoughts of him aside, smothered them with work, 
fearing the misery which they must bring. And I 
had been his friend! 

I took up the coat and felt in the pocket. Yes, 
it was there. What was it? I drew it out before 
the light and saw nothing! Yet I held something 


216 THE LIVING MUMMY 


heavy and hard. Was I going mad? Was my 
sight diseased or what? I rubbed my eyes and 
looked again. Nothing! I strode over to the gas 
jet and held the thing between my visual organs 
and the flame. Ah! something now! But how 
describe it? I saw a small light blur; a sort of 
shapeless haze off which the rays, the jet of light 
diffused, recoiled obliquely. It was not transparent, 
but neither was it in the true sense visible. It 
seemed to defy the light rays, to repulse them rather 
than absorb them. ^When held directly before the 
flame I could not see the gas jet through it, and 
yet itself I could not truly see. It confused and 
disarranged my vision as a watery mote does float- 
ing on the surface of an eyeball. Slowly and surely 
experimenting with the thing, I found that the 
farther I withdrew it from the lamp the less sen- 
sibly my sense became aware of its existence. But 
when I placed it directly against the lamp the flame 
became mysteriously obscured. I say mysteriously, 
because the thing cast no discoverable shadow, and 
although solid to the sense of touch, it was not 
otherwise apparently opaque. The flame still 
burned behind it, and I still saw the flame, yet not 
through, but over and around an intermediate blur. 
In that connection the thing did not resemble 
glass. Had the reverse been the case I should have 
seen the flame through it directly. As it was, as 
far as I can make out, the impression of the flame 
was conveyed to my retina by rays of light that 


THE DEAD HAND 


217 


did not travel in a straight path. They climbed 
over and surrounded the interposed object first, 
and thus gave me a slightly distorted image of the 
flame; and instead of revealing the obstacle which 
they had to overcome in transit, all they did was 
to indicate vaguely its situation. Thus, above and 
below the indiscernible point where their straight 
and proper course was interfered with I perceived 
a misty, indefinable haze. And at the point where 
the rays seemed to reassemble and readjust them- 
selves to the resumption of their ordinary business 
there was a blur. Perhaps the best way to depict 
the effect was to present the hypothesis of a weak 
flame held up before a stronger one. This does 
not exactly describe the phenomenon I witnessed and 
investigated, but it approximates as closely as I can 
manage. The chief points of difference are, that 
every flame casts a shadow, and this thing did not, 
unless a blur of light be a shadow; and further- 
more, a flame may be seen even confronted with a 
stronger flame, and this thing I held was destitute 
of a perceptible outline. The pity was that I was 
then working without a single clue to any compre- 
hension of the thing; and the greater pity is that 
though my knowledge became fuller, I am still 
ignorant of the action of the properties which made 
the thing visually impalpable. I can only guess at 
them. But I think I guess correctly when I con- 
jecturally assert that it was surface coated with 
some essence which had the power to compel the 


218 THE LIVING MUMMY 

great majority of the light rays to travel along 
its sides and surface and to resume their original 
direction afterwards. I do not pretend to under- 
stand how this essence could so interfere with and 
control the laws of light. But granting that it 
could, the explanation is a natural one. And 
though scientists may frown at me for advancing 
a theory which I am unable to substantiate, I pre- 
fer to incur their scorn rather than adopt the alter- 
native-supernatural agency. I simply decline to 
believe in the supernatural. It is my profound con- 
viction that nothing has ever happened on this 
planet, however mysterious and inexplicable, which 
has not been produced by a purely and perfectly nat- 
ural cause. And the longer I live the more certain 
do I become that, deep and wonderful as our scien- 
tific acquaintance with Nature undoubtedly is, we 
have not yet even thoroughly explored the porch of 
her palace of secrets, her vast treasure-house of 
wonders. 

But I stray from my subject. It is my present 
business to relate events, not to discuss their basic 
principles. 

To resume then, after a great while spent in ex- 
perimenting with the thing which poor Weldon 
had given me, before the light, I was obliged to 
confess myself baffled. I then fell back upon my 
other four senses. I got out a pair of scales and 
weighed the thing. It weighed exactly seven 
ounces. Then I smelt it. The thing was odourless. 
I bit it, but it was tasteless. Yet it yielded to my 


THE DEAD HAND 


219 


teeth like stiff rubber or leather. Next I placed it 
on a sheet of paper and traced its outlines with a 
pencil. That was the first really definite result I 
got. The tracing showed a bulbous object four 
inches wide by five long. It was shaped something 
like a pear. Its base contained four indentations 
with corresponding rounded protuberances like 
knuckles. The apex was ragged. Next I took a 
knife and with the blade scratched its surface. A 
moment later a long streak of dark, dry tissue was 
revealed. I could see it plainly. I shook all over 
with excitement. The mystery seemed to be clear- 
ing up. But even as I took up the knife again I 
paused, convulsed with a wild, improbable idea. 
What if?— but there. I held my breath and took 
the thing before the fire to think its problem out. 
I sat down. My nerves were all jangled. The fire 
needed replenishing. It was low and I was cold. 
I stooped down and heaped on some coal. Then 
came a thought. I put the thing on a shovel and 
held it over the grate. Heat! Yes, heat! The 
greatest of great resolvents. Fool not to have 
thought of it before. Fool, indeed! One minute 
— two — three. There was a shadow on the shovel. 
I bent forward. Instantly my nostrils were assailed 
with the unforgettable perfume of the tomb of 
Ptahmes! Ah! the flood of recollections that came 
surging at its bidding to my brain! But I fought 
them back. I bent right over the fire — and I made 
out presently, lying on the shovel, the dim form of 
a tight-clenched human hand. 


Chapter XXIII 

I Set Out for the East 

I T was the hand of a mummy. It had been half 
snapped, half torn from the forearm, just 
above the wrist. Thus the edges of the stock 
were ragged and the tendons were drawn out and 
tom; the bone, however, had fractured clearly, just 
as glass breaks, leaving a hard, smooth edge. But 
the hand was not an ordinary mummy’s hand. The 
bones were covered with mummified flesh truly, but, 
although dry, it was neither stiff nor brittle. On 
the contrary, it possessed the tough consistency of 
leather and was resilient and kneadable like rubber. 
The phalanges, when pulled straight, returned to 
their ordinary and original position, like springs, 
immediately the pressure was removed. The colour 
of the skin was a very dark chocolate. It was mar- 
vellously preserved. The very pores were still dis- 
cernible, and the veins and arteries beneath the epi- 
dermis, which had been converted by age into fine 
black cords, could be traced with ease. Now, whose 
hand was it? From what mummy torn? And how 
had Weldon become possessed of it? I gave up the 
attempt to solve the first two problems as soon as I 
had mentally propounded them. The third, how- 
220 


I SET OUT FOR THE EAST 221 


ever, answered itself. I knew Weldon too thor- 
oughly to admit a doubt that he would ever have 
carried about with him such a ghastly trophy. Like 
most healthy young Englishmen, he had a horror 
of such things. Well, then he must have snatched 
the hand, then invisible, from the grasp of some- 
one — in the very moment in which he had been 
falling to his death. But no one had been near him. 
That is, no one visible to us or him. But since the 
hand had been practically invisible until I had sub- 
jected it to the influence of heat, was, it not jus't 
as likely that it might have been — ^nay, must have 
been — carried by an invisible person? But that in- 
visible person must have been very near Weldon. 
He must have been close enough to have saved Wel- 
don had he chosen. Why had he not chosen ? Why, 
indeed, unless he had wished Weldon to die? 
And if he had wished W^l^e)n to die, would it not 
have been easy for him — because invisible — to help 
Weldon to die? Easy! Good heavens, how easy! 
How appallingly easy! And then I remembered 
how astonished I had been to see Weldon stagger 
back, step after step, to the platform’s edge — three 
steps at least. I understood it now — and his startled 
outcry. He had been assailed by an invisible ad- 
versary. He had been forced back. He had been 
hurled over the platform — and as he fell he had 
clutched out wildly and seized the mummy’s hand. 
He had been foully murdered ; and we had watched 
his murder, comprehending nothing. My flesh be- 


222 THE LIVING MUMMY 


gan to creep as the light of understanding broke in 
upon my brain. For I realised in the same instant 
that Weldon’s murderer was, in all probability, the 
man who had had most occasion to desire his death 
— Belleville — my enemy and the enemy, although 
the lover, of the woman I loved; the wretch in 
whose power she was at that moment. He had 
warned Miss Ottley that unless she broke off her 
engagement with Weldon her fiance would die 
within the week. He had died — murdered in cold 
blood — on the evening of the seventh day. Belle- 
ville had been most terribly faithful to his awful 
promise. To the very letter he had kept his dread- 
ful vow. And now — Miss Ottley was his prisoner 
in her own father’s house ; and, no doubt. Sir Rob- 
ert Ottley, sick, enfeebled in body and intellect, was 
Belleville’s puppet instrument to the furtherance 
of his atrocious purposes. What chance had I — 
fighting a man so utterly unscrupulous, so strong- 
willed and remorseless, and endowed with a power 
so tremendous and far-reaching as the possession of 
a chemical agent capable of rendering himself im- 
perceptible to mortal sight whenever it should please 
him to make use of it? How could I or anybody 
bring such a man to justice? Why, even if I should 
foil his scheme for my undoing, and were it pos- 
sible, as well, to get the better of him to the extent 
of satisfying myself beyond doubt as to his guilt, 
what court on earth would believe the evidence I 
could bring forward? A tissue of absurdities; a 


I SET OUT FOR THE EAST 223 

network of hypotheses and chimeras! I should be 
laughed at as a madman, a foolish visionary; and 
he would go scot free with undamaged reputation, 
free to work his evil will upon an unconscious and 
defenceless world. Belleville’s advantage over me 
was so manifestly overwhelming that I confess the 
prospect of entering into a trial of strength and 
cunning with him daunted me. And yet, if I did 
not, Weldon’s death would surely go unavenged, 
and Miss Ottley’s fate would be sealed. She would 
be forced into a marriage — somehow or other — 
with a man she loathed — the murderer of her dead 
lover. I felt so sure of this that towards morning 
I resumed my packing. I did not go to bed at all. 
After breakfast I went out and called at half a 
dozen newspaper offices. I saw as many journal- 
ists, who all promised to paragraph my departure 
for the East. I then wrote a letter to the Society 
stating, guardedly, my intention of again visiting the 
Nile; and I caught the afternoon train to Dover. 
That night I slept at Calais. On the following day I 
went to Paris and put myself in the hands of a hair- 
dresser and costumier, who carried on a peculiar 
business at Montmartre under the secret surveil- 
lance and government of the police. For a respect- 
able consideration he effected a complete metamor- 
phosis in my appearance. He speckled my black 
eyebrows with silver. He shaved off my moustache 
and beard and dyed my skin a jejeune saffron, my 
hair a bilious iron-brown. He forbade me to wear 


224 THE LIVING MUMMY 


a starched collar. He taught me how to walk 
like an elderly man; and, finally, he provided me 
with a suit of clothes that fitted fairly well, but 
which could not be said to possess any other vir- 
tue. But the fellow was well worthy of his hire. 
When he had finished with me I could not recog- 
nise myself. The mirror showed me a gaunt piece 
of human wreckage. I was to the life a decayed 
gentleman; an unobtrusively rakish, elderly degen- 
erate. I was remarkable in nothing except height, 
and even that singularity departed as I learned to 
stoop. In such guise I returned to London by 
way of Boulogne and Folkestone, and I took up 
residence immediately in a tenement-house in Soho, 
to which I had been recommended by my friend, the 
costumier. It was a curious place. It was popu- 
lated by Frenchmen, Italians, and a sprinkling of 
Swiss, and a number of Russian political refugees. 
I found them a decent lot of law-abiding miser- 
ables. The majority were derelicts of fortune, who 
lived like parasites on the toil of some few hard- 
working, foolish artisans among them. And yet, 
despite their deplorable estate, they always had a 
cheerful word and a smile to spare for a stranger.. 
They were a picturesque, interesting people, and I 
should have liked to study them under other cir- 
cumstances. But placed as I was, I conceived it 
best to keep my room as much as possible, and I 
only went abroad to buy a paper and to eat and 
drink. On the fourth morning the expected sum- 


I SET OUT FOR THE EAST 225 

mons came to hand. It was the first advertisement 
in the column. “ D. Menchikoff. Fearless. Door- 
front. Twelve. Unfailing. Noiseless. Open. 
Mizpah.” And this I interpreted to mean, Fear- 
lessly approach the front door at midnight this 
evening! You will find it open. Enter without 
noise ! God be with you till we meet ! ” 


Chapter XXIV 
The Gin Is Sprung 

I SET out wearing rubber shoes and armed with 
a loaded revolver. This I concealed in my 
breast pocket. I timed myself so nicely that I 
arrived at Sir Robert Ottley’s mansion on the 
fifth stroke of twelve. Forthwith I mounted the 
steps and softly tried the door. It was ajar. I 
pushed it back and entered, closing it noiselessly 
behind me. I locked it, too. The hall was unlighted 
and black as Erebus. I stood for a moment or 
two listening breathlessly. Then I thought I heard 
a sigh. “ May ! ** I whispered. 

I was answered by a sibilant soft “ S-Sh ! ” Then 
a hand was laid upon my sleeve and I felt myself 
drawn forward. I gave myself up to be guided the 
more willingly that I hardly knew the place. We 
came to a staircase. My guide breathed ‘‘ S-Sh ” 
again, and muttered ‘‘stairs.” We climbed them 
step by step. Heavens, how dark it was! After- 
wards I was drawn like a shadow through a maze 
of thickly carpeted corridors. Finally, we stopped. 
The hand left my arm and I heard a door creak 
open. “ Come ! ” whispered my guide. I stepped 
towards a dim, dim glow, and as I crossed the 
226 


THE GIN IS SPRUNG 227 

threshold, the door, shutting on my entrance, 
grazed my arm. 

“ At last ! ’’ the voice whispered. 

It was. a signal. Hardly was it uttered than a 
blaze of white light stabbed the darkness. I found 
myself in an immense apartment, blinking foolishly 
into the muzzle of a revolver presented at my fore- 
head by Dr. Belleville. Our eyes met presently 
across the sights. His were smiling coldly. 

“An excellent disguise. Dr. Pinsent; my sin- 
cere congratulations,” he observed. “ It is evident 
you have obeyed my instructions to the letter.” 

“ Your instructions,” I said. 

“Ay. Mine.” 

“ Then you ” 

“ The cipher was my idea entirely. Ah ! but you 
must not blame Miss Ottley. She signed the first 
letter without understanding. Later, however, she 
would not write. She knew. I was obliged to use 
the typewriter, and in order to convince you of the 
authenticity of the letter I threw at your feet last 
Thursday night — my emissary followed you home 
and pretended to wish to wrest it from' you. You 
fell into the snare. And now you are here, and 
no one knows, eh? No one knows? ” 

“You think so?” I asked. I was beginning to 
get back my wits. 

But he only laughed. “ It does not matter. The 
great thing is, you are here and in my power. That 
was all I wanted, Now^ Ottley! Now!” 


228 THE LIVING MUMMY 


It was another signal. Something hard and 
heavy crashed against my skull. For a second I 
fought for breath against a horrible feeling of sick- 
ness and impotence, then came blank night and 
nothingness. I had been sandbagged. 

I recovered to find that my captors had strapped 
me hand and foot in a huge iron chair. I could not 
move an inch in any one direction, but otherwise 
my situation was tolerably comfortable. Belleville 
sat facing me some feet away. He was plucking 
thoughtfully at his big, black beard. There was 
no one else in the room. Perceiving I was awake, 
he arose and took from' a table near him a glass of 
water, which he brought to me. 

“ It is not poisoned,’’ he remarked. “ I have 
considerable need of you for some time yet.” He 
placed the glass to my lips then, and I drank with 
confidence. I felt better afterwards, but my head 
ached bravely still. 

Belleville resumed his chair and again began to 
pluck at his beard. No doubt your head aches,” 
he observed. “ I regret having been obliged to use 
you so discourteously, but we have had so much 
experience of your muscular vigour that to have 
risked a physical encounter would have been ab- 
surd. We might have been forced to kill you, and 
that would not have suited my plans.” 

** Indeed,” said I. It cost me a painful effort to 
speak at all. 

“ I desire to be perfectly candid with you,” said 


THE GIN IS SPRUNG 229 


Belleville. ‘‘ But before we get down to business 
it were as well to prove to you how completely at 
my mercy you are.” He took, as he spoke, a re- 
volver from' his pocket and aimed carelessly at the 
opposite wall. “ This apartment used to be a shoot- 
ing gallery,” he observed. “All the walls are 
padded.” He then discharged the weapon six times 
in rapid succession. The bullets spattered on a 
plate of steel. The sound of the reports was simply 
deafening. A full minute passed before the echoes 
and reverberations ceased. All the while Belleville 
smiled at me. “No one heard but you and I,” he 
said. “ The futility, therefore, of wasting your 
breath in shouting for help will appeal to you.” 

I glanced about and found that all the walls I 
could see were windowless. The room was lighted 
by electricity. The door was thickly coated with 
padded cushioned leather. The floor was carpeted 
with one vast sheet of rubber. The place was fitted 
up as a chemical laboratory. I counted half a dozen 
glass tables littered with retorts and dynamos, test- 
ing tubes and other instruments. There were big 
glass cases filled with porcelain boxes and phials 
of drugs and large jars containing acids. And 
finally there was one object my eyes rested on with 
a little shock of recognition. This was the sar- 
cophagus of Ptahmes. It was raised about three 
feet from the ground upon two steel trestles. The 
great sculptured lid was propped on end against 
a neighbouring wall. But although the coffin was 


230 THE LIVING MUMMY 


open I could not see within it because the edge was 
almost on a level with my eyes. 

‘‘ Are you satisfied ? ” asked Belleville presently. 
He had followed the direction of my glances with 
a sort of half-contemptuous, half-amused curiosity, 
reloading his revolver the while. The man evi- 
dently cherished an immense opinion of himself — 
but he was as cautious as a sage : witness the reload- 
ing of his weapon — despite the fact that I was as 
helpless as a trussed fowl. 

“Yes. I am satisfied,’’ I answered. 

“And cool? What I mean is are you perfectly 
collected? Do you feel able to engage in conversa- 
tion? Or are you too dazed — or perhaps too 
angry?” 

“ I can promise at least to listen and try to under- 
stand you.” 

He gave me a sardonic smile. “ The under dog 
is a fool to be sarcastic,” he said drily. “ However, 
please yourself. Listen then! You are no doubt 
aware that it is one of my ambitions to marry Miss 
Ottley?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Captain Weldon stood some time since in my 
road.” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Peace to his ashes,” smiled the Doctor. Then 
he frowned. “ But to my astonishment I now find 
that the lady did not care for the gallant Captain.” 

“ Indeed.” 


THE GIN IS SPRUNG 231 


“Indeed and indeed/' Belleville bit his lip. 
“ But for you," he snarled. 

I was silent. 

“It is almost incredible, but it is true." 

“ She has confided in you ? " I asked. 

“ As a preliminary step to defying- me," replied 
Belleville. “ It was rather silly of her, but perhaps 
she could not help herself. Women, even the wisest, 
are slaves to their emotions of the moment. I was 
willing to make all sorts of concessions, too. I even 
offered her your life." 

“ My life." 

“ I offered to permit you to live if she would 
marry me." 

“ And she?" 

Belleville bared his teeth just as I have seen a 
jackal grin. “ You know how women love to 
glorify the objects of their admiration," he said 
slowly. “ In their opinion the men they — they love 
— are always the wisest, the strongest, the most 
astute and the best. I am free to admit, my dear 
Pinsent, that you are by no means a fool. You have 
no doubt a fairly keen intelligence — ^but Miss Ottley 
has placed you on an alabaster pedestal — ^pedestal 
do I say? A pinnacle! She has actually ventured 
to contrast your ability with mine to my disparage- 
ment. She rejected my offer with disdain and chal- 
lenged me to measure wits with you. And when I 
accepted the challenge she calmly predicted that 
you would defeat and destroy me. It thus became 


232 THE LIVING MUMMY 


my duty to show her how mistaken and fallible in 
truth is her estimate of me. Weldon’s death taught 
her nothing, absolutely nothing. She protested 
that if I was really the deus ex machina it only 
proved me to be an ordinary sort of heartless mur- 
derer. Weldon’s particular order of intellect never 
impressed her, it appears. But yours, in her eyes, 
is little short of divine. There was no help then but 
to dispose of you in such a way as to open her eyes. 
It is no boast to say that I could have killed you 
at any time of the day or night I pleased for weeks 
past. Had I done so, however, I should have been 
constrained so to arrange matters — as in Weldon’s 
case^ — as to make your end appear natural ; and I’m 
afraid Miss Ottley would on that account have been 
inclined to consider, for a second time, me a lucky 
prophet and you the second victim of an inscrutable 
Providence. That is her present attitude toward 
Weldon’s final exit from the stage of life. I was 
obliged then so to arrange matters as to get you into 
my power, but, Men entendu, without the fanfare 
of trumpets. I flatter myself that I have managed 
very well. You may pretend the contrary if you 
choose, but you’ll not convince me. I have had your 
every movement carefully followed, and I believe 
that outside of this house there is not a soul in 
England of your acquaintance who has a doubt but 
that you are on your way to Egypt. And I have 
neglected no precautions that could ever give rise 
to such a doubt. Immediately you quitted your 


THE GIN IS SPRUNG 233 


lodgings in Soho this evening, my emissary entered 
your room by means of a master key and brought 
away your trunks. No one saw him, for he was 
invisible; and no one saw your trunks depart, for 
he made them invisible, too. They are at this 
moment in this house. You doubt me? ” 

“Yes,’’ I cried. “ I doubt you; produce them!” 

“ I am too comfortable to move,” smiled Belle- 
ville. “ But here is something I found at the bottom 
of one of them.” 

As he spoke he took from his breast pocket the 
mummy hand poor Weldon had given me. I could 
not suppress an exclamation. He had spoken truly 
then. Belleville tossed the hand upon a table. “ I 
was rather glad to get it back,” he said. “ Not that 
it really mattered; but I wondered who had found 
it. Did Weldon still cling to it after he was 
dead ? ” 

“You scoundrel!” I cried. “It was you — 
really then? You pushed him over the platform? ” 

He laughed. “In person, no, but by direction, 
yes.” Then he became serious. “ But let us avoid 
personalities, if you please. We each possess an 
ugly temper, I believe; and mine is sometimes un- 
controllable. Do you agree?” 

“ Proceed I ” said I. 

He bowed ironically. “ There is but little more 
to tell you now. You know almost all you need 
to know, and enough, I feel sure, to enable you to 
anticipate your fate.” 


234 THE LIVING MUMMY 


‘‘You intend to murder me, I suppose?’’ 

“ Exactly. But it depends on yourself whether 
you shall have a painless death or no. If you will 
do what I require you shall have the choice between 
aconite and morphia. If you refuse, well,” — he 
pursed up his lips — “ you’ll live longer, Pinsent ; yes, 
you’ll live longer — ^but frankly, old chap, you won’t 
like it. I hate you, you know, and I am a surgeon, 
and you are there and I am here; I repeat, I hate 
you. And I am not only a surgeon, I am a skilful 
surgeon. I am, besides, a vivisectionist. That is 
one of my hobbies. And I’ll keep you alive as long 
as possible. For let me yet again assure you I hate. 
— you — hate you, hate you!'^ 

There was no doubt of it. He hated me. The 
emotion was infectious. I hated him. .1 had be- 
fore; but I now realised how much. After one 
long glance into his gloating eyes I lowered mine 
and asked in a voice I strove to render civil: 
“ What is it you want me to do for you ? ” 

“ I want you to play the part of a friendly dis- 
embodied ghostly match-maker.” 

“ I fail to understand you.” 

“ Naturally. But listen. I intend to render you 
invisible. ^When that is done I shall bring Miss Ott- 
ley here. She knows your voice. You will speak 
to her. Do you see daylight now ? ” 

“ I begin.” 

“ That is well. You will inform the lady that 
you are dead, but that your spirit is held in durance 


THE GIN IS SPRUNG 285 

vile at my command. Like all other women, she is 
at heart deeply superstitious. She will believe what 
you say and she will conceive a prodigious respect 
for my power and ability. You will assure her 
that I control your fate and that you can only obtain 
deliverance from unimaginably awful tortures at 
the price of her consenting to become immediately 
my wife. Well?’^ 

“ A pretty plot,” said I. 

“ I felt certain it would earn your admiration,” 
he returned. 

“ I marvel at your candour! ” 

“ My dear Pinsent,” he said, smiling, “ complete 
candour is the privilege of the all-powerful, and that 
am I — at least in your regard. I can perfectly 
afford to be perfectly frank with you, because I can 
compel you to serve me even should you decide to 
disobey me.” 

‘‘ Indeed, and how ? ” 

“ The thing is as simple as A, B, C. If you are 
so foolish as to refuse to play the part I have as- 
signed, I shall render you three parts — instead of 
entirely invisible. I shall make your bonds, how- 
ever, entirely invisible. You will then be put to 
certain electrical tortures of my invention, and I 
shall invite Miss Ottley to observe the spectacle 
of a soul in pain. I confess I should prefer you to 
behave like a sensible ghost and talk to her in the 
manner I have indicated; but you must admit that 
in the alternative she will, nevertheless, be forced to 


236 THE LIVING MUMMY 


a conclusion flattering alike to my ambition and 
my pride.” 

‘‘ Is it possible that you are all the heartless 
scoundrel you pretend ? Can you really find 
pleasure in the notion of winning the woman you 
are presumed to love — ^by a trick so infamous and 
despicable ? ” 

“ Yes, Pinsent, yes.” 

You must be animated by a devil.” 

“ On the contrary, my dear enemy, I am just an 
ordinary human being who has been seduced by the 
most extraordinary temptation that has ever been 
offered to a living being. A power has been placed 
at my disposal which puts me on a level with the 
immortal gods of ancient Greece. In deciding to 
make use of it, I have adopted their ideas of mor- 
ality, almost, as it were, perforce. I now make a 
cult of my convenience, and a religion of the in- 
dulgence of my instincts. I intend henceforth to 
kill always what I hate, to possess what I love, to 
seize what I covet, and to enjoy what I desire. 
Miss Ottley dislikes and despises me. That 
has irritated my vanity to such an extent that 
it is necessary to my happiness that I should 
convert her dislike into subjection, her contempt 
into the unbounded reverence of fear. When 
she becomes my wife I shall be the master 
of her millions— her father is on the point of 
dissolution — and I shall be the tyrant of her person. 
I shall rule her with a rod of iron terror. That 


THE GIN IS SPRUNG 237 

domination will give me a far greater joy than the 
vulgar pleasure of reciprocated passion. And not 
the least part of it will dwell in the reflection that 
you, my dear enemy, will have so largely and so 
unwillingly contributed to the gratification of my 
sweet will. Now you have all the facts before you. 
My cards are all exposed. It is for you to make up 
your mind what you will do. Don’t decide im- 
mediately! There is no hurry. Think the matter 
over. As I am rather weary ” (he yawned in my 
face), “I shall now leave you to your meditations 
till the morning. Good-night. ” 

He rose, bowed to me with mock politeness and 
moved over to the door. A moment later he had 
gone, and with him the light vanished. I was left 
in the profoundest darkness, and my thoughts were 
nearly as colourless and sombre as the gloom in 
which I sat. 


Chapter XXV 
The Mummy Talks 
HE sensation of awakening informed me 



of the surprising fact that I had fallen 


-JL asleep. I was rather proud under the cir- 
cumstances that I had been able to do so. Probably 
I had slept for a long while, too, for the laboratory 
was lighted up, and it was evident that it had been 
carefully dusted in the interval. There was a sound 
of sweeping behind my chair, but strain as I would 
I could not turn my head to see who was my com- 
panion. ‘‘I say,” I called out. “I am thirsty. 
Fetch me a glass of water, will you?” 

The sweeping' stopped. Presently steps ap- 
proached my chair. They passed it, and next second 
I saw the giant Arab of the cave temple at Rakh, 
the wretch who had attempted to strangle me at 
my camp, and whom I had released from the sar- 
cophagus of Ptahmes on the Nile. He stood be- 
fore me, his extraordinary blood-coloured eyes star- 
ing at me with the glazed expressionless regard of 
an automaton. He was clad in a long, yellow shape- 
less garment like a smock, and his feet were shod in 
leather sandals. In one hand he held a broom. 
Very slowly he extended his other arm before my 
face, and I saw with a shock of aversion that the 


THE MUMMY TALKS 239 


hand had gone. It had been severed from the wrist 
and nothing but a stump remained. Involuntarily 
I thought of the mummy hand which poor Weldon 
had given me. It still lay upon the table where 
Dr. Belleville had tossed it, full in my view. It was 
a left hand. The Arab’s left hand had been lost. 
The connection was obvious. But — ^but — of course 
a mummy hand thousands of years old perhaps, 
could not have grown upon a still living, breathing 
man. Living! Breathing! The words repeated 
themselves as I gazed at the Arab. How like a 
mummy he appeared ! His skin was of exactly the 
same colour as the mummy hand. It had the same 
shrivelled appearance, the same leather-like texture. 
And, good heavens! unless I dreamed he did not 
breathe! Not a movement of his body disclosed the 
smallest sign of respiration. I stared at him, ap- 
palled. His features were fixed and set rigidly. His 
mouth was closed. His nostrils were fallen in and 
glued together. How then could he breathe ? And 
yet there was life in his gaunt frame ; some animat- 
ing spirit that controlled its mechanism, for slowly 
his handless arm fell back to his side, and he con- 
tinued to regard me with a steadfast, unwinking 
stare. I examined his eyes and found that they were 
lidless. The lids had shrunken back and disappeared. 
A closer inspection showed that the eyes themselves 
owed all their lustre to reflected light. The cornea 
was in each orb nothing but a thin gelatinous-like 
film filled with tiny little crinkles that caught up 


240 THE LIVING MUMMY 

and refracted passing rays from all directions. The 
whites were opaque black teguments, dry and dead. 
Behind the lenses was no sign of any pupil. There 
was nothing but an iris which seemed to be com- 
posed of dull red dust. 

Living! Breathing! The Arab was a mummy! 
an animated corpse. Oh! Of course I dreamed. 
I must have dreamed. I have told myself that so 
many thousand times that it is a marvel the constant 
reiteration has not forced me to believe it. But I 
do not. Nor do I know what to believe. I am in 
as great a maze to understand now as I was then. 

At first I conceived an almost intolerable horror 
of the thing before me. But finding that the Arab 
did not menace me, I gradually became accustomed 
to its most unpleasant and almost ghastly proximity. 
And after a time I felt so strong a fever of thirst 
that I forced myself to speak to it again. 

I asked it for water. It did not move. I became 
convinced it heard but did not comprehend the 
language I employed. I spoke to it in French and 
German and in Arabic, but still it did not move. 
Finally I said to myself, “ If it is a mummy, it will 
be an Egyptian and will understand the tongue of 
ancient Egypt.” Then I gasped out such a term 
as I believed might have been used by a thirsty 
Theban asking for alleviation of his famine. The 
thing instantly moved off behind me. Presently 
I heard the sound of falling water, and a moment 
later a glass was pressed to my parched lips. I 


THE MUMMY TALKS 241 

drained it thankfully, eyeing the while, with a feel- 
ing of deep, unconquerable repulsion, the sinewy 
black mummy hand that served me. I then thanked 
the Arab in the same tongue which had persuaded 
him to be my minister. He gazed at me a while and 
then moved to the table and looked at it. He ap- 
peared to be writing, but I could not be sure. I 
heard a curious, raucous scratching sound. Thus 
ten minutes sped by. Meanwhile, I shut my eyes 
and tried hard to persuade myself that I dreamed. 
Then a sound disturbed me. I opened my eyes with 
a start and saw that the Arab had returned to my 
side. He held a slate before me covered with 
hieroglyphics. Never had I greater occasion to 
bless my knowledge of that ancient language and to 
gratefully regard the patient years of labour I had 
spent acquiring it. But likewise never had I greater 
occasion to lament the imperfections of my knowl- 
edge and defects in my memory. I could under- 
stand a portion of the message — the greater part 
indeed — but still a part escaped me. 

Briefly translated, the part I comprehended ran: 

“ It is not meet that Ptahmes — named Tahutimes 
— son of Mery, son of Hap, High Priest of Amen- 
Ra and the Hawk-headed Horus, should be a wicked 
unbeliever’s slave. . . Death explains. . . . 

The spirit of a good man hurried hence accuses me 
unanswered at the. . . . throne. 

For time unending. . . . Fanet. 

King of all the Gods. . . . Thus only shall 


242 THE LIVING MUMMY 


you escape the death that threatens. You shall 
swear to break my stele of ivory, to commit my 
papyri to the flames unread, to burn my body and 
scatter my ashes to the winds of Heaven. You shall 
swear by Amen- Ra, King of Earth and Heaven, 
to destroy. . . . the oppressor and your en- 

emy. He has deciphered the inscriptions. He has 
mastered their meaning. He knows. He cannot 
be permitted to live lest I. . . . and he the 

enemy exalt himself and triumph over you and me 
. . . Swear then, and aid shall be accorded in 

your hour of need.” 

I gathered from this message that the ghost of 
Ptahmes inhabitated the mummy before me; that 
Belleville had possessed himself of some stupendous 
wizard power which enabled him to compel the soul 
and dust of Ptahmes to obey his infamous behests, 
but that Ptahmes was his most unwilling slave. I 
also gathered that Ptahmes promised me help if I 
would take an oath to kill Belleville, to destroy 
certain papyri and an ivory stele in Belleville’s pos- 
session which I must promise not to attempt to 
read, and also to burn the mummified remains of 
Ptahmes, and so, I suppose, secure the rest of his 
troubled spirit. I did not pause to reflect on the 
wild unreality of the happenings my senses reg- 
istered. They did not appear indeed unreal to me 
at all — then. On the contrary, I felt that I was con- 
fronted with a very grave and serious proposal, 
which if I decided to accept would be carried out to 


THE MUMMY TALKS 243 

the letter as regards the assistance promised me, a 
circumstance that would oblige me as an honest man 
to keep my part of the contract. The question re- 
mained: Would I be justified in solemnly swearing 
to compass Belleville's death ? Why not ? Surely he 
deserved capital punishment if ever a man did. By 
his own. confession he had either murdered Frank- 
fort Weldon or procured his murder; and he had 
cold-bloodedly assured me that he was relentlessly 
resolved to murder me. And there were other 
things to think of. He had given me positive proof 
of the possession of some unknown power over the 
laws of Nature which had enabled him already to 
commit crimes without incurring a shadow of legal 
suspicion. Were I then to effect my escape from 
him, it would be my duty as a citizen of the State 
to do all in my power to prevent him working fur- 
ther ill in the community. Yet I could not bring 
him to justice. I had no evidence to produce against 
him which the courts would not scorn and ridicule. 
The attempt to convict him of the murder he had 
confessed to me, would only result in branding me 
in all men's eyes as a lunatic. He would meanwhile 
be at liberty to go abroad to work his evil will 
upon the world. He would very soon revenge him- 
self upon me, and destroy me in the same diabol- 
ically ingenious fashion, perhaps, in which he had 
killed poor Weldon. And Miss Ottley would then 
be at his mercy, with no man living to defend her. 
She might continue to resist him for a time, but in 


244 THE LIVING MUMMY 


the end a man so unscrupulous and implacably de- 
termined would be sure to have his way. Able to 
make himself invisible — as I believed he could — 
he might as a last resort rob her of her honour and 
so bend her proud spirit to his wish. It was this 
thought that finally determined me. I looked up 
and said quietly to the patient, waiting Arab : 

Ptahmes, son of Mery, son of Hap, once High 
Priest of Amen-Ra, but now I know not what — I 
swear by the King of Earth and Heaven to destroy 
the stele and papyri unread if I shall find them, to 
burn your body and scatter the ashes, and to kill 
your enemy and mine.” 

The dark, fixed, corpse-like face of the Arab 
turned forthwith from me. He pressed the slate to 
his bosom with the stump of his left wrist and with 
the right hand rubbed out the hieroglyphic writing. 
He then glided over to the table and replaced the 
slate. I followed his movements with the most 
passionate attention, expecting him to return and 
immediately release me from my bonds. But he did 
no such thing. In the contrary, he moved slowly 
forward to the great sarcophagus and to my great 
astonishment I saw him climb over the edge and 
repose himself within the tomb. Presently he had 
entirely vanished from my sight. I could hardly 
credit my eyes. What was the meaning of his 
strange act? I waited for a few minutes, but he 
did not reappear. Then I called out his name 
aloud : ‘‘ Ptahmes ! Ptahmes ! ” 


THE MUMMY TALKS 245 

Nothing answered me. 

I racked my brains to string together an imploring 
sentence in the ancient tongue of Egypt, and having 
fashioned one, I cried it forth in tones of passionate 
Entreaty, by turns commanding and beseeching him' 
to keep his pledge. And not once or twice, but a 
hundred times, did I address him in these ways. But 
I might as well have cried out to the stars. My 
efforts were all unavailing, and at length, wearied 
out with them, I desisted and abandoned my re- 
maining energy to the bitter task of reactionary 
self-reviling. I caustically informed myself that 
my brain had gone wandering. Thus until I 
was hot all over with shame. Then in a more 
kindly spirit I cast about for excuses to salve my 
intellectual vanity. I ascribed the whole wild 
dream that I had dreamed to the blow my poor head 
had received last night. But all the while, deep at 
heart, I did not believe I had dreamed. I pretended 
to, in order to make sure that I still possessed a 
critical, scientific faculty. But I did not believe it 
really. I could not. And this fact is one more 
proof to me that faith in all its forms depends more 
upon feeling than intellectual conviction. 


Chapter XXVI 

A Pleasant Chat With a Murderer 


I A WOKE so much refreshed and free from 
pain that I must have slept for many hours. 
Belleville was pinching my shoulder. His 
black-visaged face was curiously bilious-looking, 
and puffy purple hollows underhung his eyes. 

“ You didn’t sleep thus on the banks of the Nile,” 
he muttered, with a sick man’s frown. “ You were 
wakeful enough then. One would think you had 
been drugged.” 

“ Indeed,” said I. “ But I had need to be wake- 
ful then.” 

‘‘ Who set on the light,” he demanded. “ I 
swear I left you in dark. Who has been here?” 

“ Your Arab,” I replied. “ He swept out the 
room and gave me a drink. Then he climbed into 
the sarcophagus yonder, and unless he went away 
while I slept, there you’ll find him.” 

The rascal looked perfectly astounded. ‘‘ My 
Arab!” he repeated, staring sharply into my eyes. 
Then of a sudden he turned and simply rushed over 
to the big lead coffin. Stooping over the edge, he 
peeped into the interior and seemed to be shifting 
346 


A CHAT WITH A MURDERER 247 


something with his hands. His back was all I saw, 
but it moved to and fro, and he strained on tiptoe. 
When he stood up his face was scarlet and his eyes 
were troubled. ‘‘ Swept the room, you said, and 
gave you a drink ? he muttered half to himself. 
With that he took to examining the floor, crawling 
on hands and knees. His peregrinations took him be- 
hind me, and what he did there or found there I 
do not know ; but he rapped out an oath and I heard 
him pacing up and down, swearing in an angry 
undertone. So five minutes passed, then he stalked 
into my view and showed me a very troubled and 
a very angry countenance. 

“ You asked my Arab for a drink? ” he cried. 

I did,” said 1. 

‘‘ In English?” 

“What else?” 

“Did he answer you?” 

“ In the kindliest fashion possible. He assuaged 
my thirst.” 

“Blast him!” cried Belleville, all of a tremble 
with rage. “The villain has been tricking me. 
Like enough IVe loosed a force I’ll yet have to 
reckon with.” 

“ I don’t comprehend,” said I. 

“ Nor need you,” he rapped back. “ Shut your 
mouth till I address you or I’ll cut your prying 
tongue out.” The rascal was beside himself, that 
was evident. And since I was quite at his mercy 
I thought it best to do his bidding. He clapped a 


248 THE LIVING MUMMY 


hand to his head and rushed once more to the sar- 
cophagus. He glared over the edge for a minute, 
then turned and flung out his arms. ‘‘ For two 
pins Fd do it now,’’ he gasped. “ Cut him to pieces 
and burn the parts. It’s doubtful if I’ll ever get 
more good out of him. But if I do that I’ll kill 
the chance. And yet he’s played me false already. 
Been laughing in his sleeve at me! But no — he 
can’t have meant hurt or he’d have freed the pris- 
oner. As easy that as fetch him a drink. No 
doubt he was asked. Yet he’s not to be trusted 
now, that is evident. I’ll have to gaol him, too. 
Let’s see ! ” 

He crossed the room and caught hold of the lid 
of the sarcophagus; but do what he could he was 
unable to shift it. I regarded his efforts with a 
deal of secret amusement. He emerged from the 
struggle panting and with disordered dress, and 
his temper in a molten glow. But he was not 
beaten. Leaving the lid alone, he wheeled a big 
lounge over to the sarcophagus and, tipping it on 
edge, heaved it up athwart the mouth. Then he 
piled everything of weight he could find atop of 
the lounge and soon he had built up a pyramid 
which would have taken a Hercules to shift, if 
shut up in the sarcophagus beneath. It was then 
that I began to feel I had been a notable fool in 
telling Belleville anything about the “ Arab.” But 
it was little use crying over spilt milk. 

His labours over, the rascal sank into a chair 


A CHAT WITH A MURDERER 249 


before me, and began fanning his hot face with a 
piece of cardboard. 

‘‘ Now for our business,^’ he presently observed. 
“You’ve probably come to some decision, Pin- 
sent. I wait to hear it.” 

“ Well,” I said, “ the thing is in a nutshell. 
You’ve promised me nothing but a choice of 
deaths. I may be a fool, but I like life so well that 
I prefer a lingering sort to any other, however 
painless.” 

“ You’re a fool,” he answered shortly, and 
pouted out his loose thick lips beyond his beard, 
so that he seemed to have the snout of a hairy pig. 
“ You don’t know what a pleasure it will be to me 
to torture you,” he continued. “ I’ll make you 
suffer like the damned before you die.” 

“ I don’t doubt your will ; it’s your ability which 
is in question,” I said, as coolly as I was able. “You 
may think you have me laid here very nicely by 
the heels. Dr. Belleville, and so you have in seeming. 
But you’re not the only man who has a knowledge 
of the old magic arts of ancient Egypt. I tell you 
to your face that I possess a charm no whit less 
potent than the one you found the secret of in 
yonder tomb. And if you force me to use it, why, 
I shall use it. Now put that in your pipe and 
smoke it.” 

He stood up at once, greatly surprised, much 
incredulous, but also a little troubled and dubious, 
as I could see. 


250 THE LIVING MUMMY 


You think you can bluff me? ” he snarled. But 
I had bluffed him. I could read it in his eyes. 

I answered him with nothing but a smile. 

He assumed a sneer. His eyes glinted. He put 
his hand in his pocket and produced a revolver. He 
cocked the weapon and put it to my temple. 

“Well, you’ve challenged me,” he jeered. “In 
just one minute I’ll blow your brains out. Your 
charm is now in question 1 ” 

For a few seconds a dark haze of blind terror 
shut off my power of vision. I felt the villain 
meant to do what he had threatened. His nerves 
had been shaken by what I had said to him about 
the Arab — though why, I could not fathom — and 
my challenge, although the merest bluff, had com- 
pleted their disorder. He was in a spell of panic 
and it had swept his reason and his resolution to 
the winds. He intended to kill me in order to re- 
store his own sense of security, and at once. And 
I was impotent to prevent him. He was counting 
aloud, “One, two, three, four.” He had got up 
to fifteen before I even partially awoke out of my 
trance of craven fear. But in the next five seconds 
I had lived a whole series of lifetimes and I had 
received an inspiration born of wrath and hate and 
desperate necessity. 

“ Look in my eyes,” I shrieked at him. “ And 
listen if you want to live.” 

He looked at me. I put the strength of my ex- 
istence into my gaze, and I felt a strange, wild 


A CHAT WITH A MURDERER 251 


thrill of exultation as I saw his eyes dilate encoun- 
tering the glance I threw at him. 

“ My death means yours/’ I hissed. My mon- 
itor stands over you. You’ll be shrivelled as by 
lightning. We’ll go together to the throne of 
God! Now shoot if you will and damn your soul 
for all eternity ! Shoot — shoot ! ” 

But Dr. Belleville did not shoot. His hand fell 
to his side. He staggered back, staring at me open- 
mouthed until the chair arrested him. I saw my 
advantage and pressed it home. 

“ Stop ! ” I shouted. ‘‘ As you value your dirty 
life. Stop ! Stand still and do not turn your head. 
One movement and we both die. I don’t want to 
die for a dog like you.” 

He stood like a frozen image. Holding his 
glance with mine, I began to mutter in a sing-song 
way a string of meaningless Egyptian phrases. 
Then the more powerfully to impress the supersti- 
tious fool-scoundrel, all of a sudden I uttered a loud 
heart-rending groan and allowed my head to fall 
over on the strap that encircled and sustained my 
neck. But though I only affected to swoon, the 
frightful amount of will force and nervous energy 
I had expended in the crisis had induced a conse- 
quential lassitude so enthralling that I came very 
near to fainting in reality. And, indeed, it is quite 
likely that I lost my senses for a time. Soon, 
however, I felt water sprinkled on my face and 
slowly I raised my head. “ A drink ! ” I gasped. 


252 THE LIVING MUMMY 


A glass was pressed to my lips. I drank thirstily 
and opened my eyes. Belleville, white-faced but 
composed now and gloomily frowning, was my 
minister. 

“ I make you my compliments,’’ he said in cold, 
slow, even tones. “You have a quick wit and a 
nerve of iron. I am glad, because they saved me 
from a folly. You would cease to be of use to me 
dead, curse you, though I wish you carrion, and 
will make you worm food before I am much 
older.” 

“ You’ll not live to repent it,” I replied. “ I’ve 
bound your fate with mine by ties no mortal can 
unsolve.” 

“ Enough of that rubbish,” he retorted harshly. 
“ You cannot haze me twice. You could not have 
at all if I had stopped to think or been quite well. 
But I’m liverish and out of sorts to-day — ^the re- 
sult of staying up all night nursing Ottley.” 

“ You’ll see when the time comes — if you have 
the courage,” I responded in an acrid tone. “ You 
cannot scare me, Belleville, because you cannot harm 
me without hurting yourself — and in your deeps of 
heart, you rogue, you know it.” 

He burst out laughing, but there was a note of 
nervousness in his mocking mirth that pleased me' 
passing well. 

“ Pah! ” he said at last. “.Would you sit there 
trussed up like a chooky skewered for the table if 
you had the power you pretend ? ” 


A CHAT WITH A MURDERER 253 

Idiot ! ’’ I snapped. ‘‘ Can electricity unbuckle 
straps without machinery? Yet it can splinter 
rocks without an effort and without assistance.’' 

Ah ! ” said he, “ ah ! So you pretend ” 

‘‘Try me! ” I interrupted. 

“Not I,” cried he. “ Fve encountered so many 
wonders lately that I’m now beginning to regard 
what I of old considered the impossible as the most 
likely thing of all to happen. I don’t believe you, 
Pinsent, but neither do I disbelieve you. Therefore, 
acting on the kindly hint you dropped. I’ll take all 
sane precautions. Au revoir.” 

He marched to the door, passed out and disap- 
peared. I chewed the bitter cud of thought for 
some hours. Meanwhile I grew desperately hun- 
gry, ay, and thirsty, too. There came a time when 
I would have given the last of my possessions for 
a beef-steak and a jug of water. And, oh! how 
tired I was of my position. The blood gradually 
ceased to circulate properly through all my parts. 
My hands became purple. My legs went to sleep. 
My limbs were on a rack of pins and needles and 
even breathing hurt me. I did my best by strain- 
ing at the bonds at intervals to promote the arterial 
flow and stop the agony of muscular irritation. 
But it was a poor best, and I sank welcomely at 
length into a benumbed lethargic state near akin 
to stupor, from which I knew I could wake to 
anguish by the merest movement. 

As near as I can guess twelve hours had un- 


254 THE LIVING MUMMY 


coiled their lethal folds before my infernal captor 
returned to the laboratory. One instant I was 
sharply sensible and suffering most damnably. The 
rogue looked positively sick and he smelt like a gin 
palace. He had evidently drunk a deal of spirit, but 
he was not the least intoxicated. It is over ! ” he 
cried and threw himself into a chair. 

“What?” I questioned. 

“ Ottley is dead,” said he, “ and I am glad of it, 
all said and done, though I worked like a galley 
slave to keep him by me. He was a fine cloak for 
my doings, but he grew wearisome — the fractious 
old fool — ^at times. And Fm not sure I'd bring him 
back now — were I able.” 

“And Miss Ottley?” 

“ A pretty scene ! ” He shrugged his shoulders, 
then grimaced and whistled. “ I'm her father's 
murderer, it seems ! ” He stretched out his arms 
and yawned. “But she's not responsible, poor 
thing — grief demented. The two consulting physi- 
cians heartily sympathised with me. They knew 
how I had worked, you see, and Sir Philip Lang 
himself suggested morphia. They've signed a paper 
giving me control of her — ^under their directions 
I'm trustee of the estate under the will besides. 
Lang thinks she may recover — 'ultimately, but it is 
evident that she must be confined. She raved of 
mummies, and spirits, and dead men come to life 
from the sleep of ages, and so forth. It impressed 
Lang, vastly. He tapped his sage old head and mut* 


A CHAT WITH A MURDERER 255 

tered ‘Too much learning/ He has a fad that 
woman’s brains are nurtured best on pap, and I had 
the tact to humour him. Oh ! I’m a devilish clever 
fellow, Pinsent. What do you think?” 

There is little doubt of it,” I said politely, very 
politely, indeed, for I wished to get as much in- 
formation from him as I could and also something 
to eat and drink. “ With your brains you might 
do anything. I suspect I have hitherto misjudged 
you. Still, I wonder that you are not an arch- 
bishop. It seems to me the Church would give you 
the proper cloak you need to exercise your talents 
in.” 

“Gad!” he cried. “There’s point in that re- 
mark. But between ourselves, Pinsent, I aim at 
higher game than spiritual power.” 

“ Temporal,” I suggested. 

“ The highest,” he answered, sitting up. “ And 
what’s to prevent me ? ” he asked defiantly. “ No 
man’s life is safe from me.” 

I was puzzled. “ You’d not make yourself eli- 
gible for kingship by killing kings,” I said. 

“ Kingship be damned,” he sneered. “ My father 
was an earl’s bastard, but as for me, I’m a pure 
democrat. No, no. I’m' going to abolish royalty. 
It has served its turn.” 

“But where do you come in?” 

“The pleasure of the game is mine, the knowl- 
edge and the ecstasy of power unlimited to make 
and break.” 


250 THE LIVING MUMMY 

“ Oh ! oh ! my tiger, having tasted blood already, 
once at least, the thirst grows on you.” 

“Once at least — ^bah!” he jeered, grinning like 
a fiend. 

** Pardon my ignorance,” I entreated. “ Who 
was your latest victim.” 

“ Navarro,” he answered, grinning still. “ The 
scamp is a true clairyoyant and had to be shut 
up. He leaped from London Bridge the night 
you came here and stepped like a poor rabbit into 
the trap I laid for you.” 

** Well,” said I, in tones husky with throat dry- 
ness and apparent admiration, “ that makes two— 
Weldon and Navarro?” 

‘‘There is a third still,” he answered, fairly 
snapping at the bait. “My old grandfather, the 
Earl of Havelock.” 

‘‘ And why did you murder him? ” 

“ For his snobbish refusal to receive me as his 
kin ten years ago.” 

“Might one ask how?” 

“It’s a story to entertain,” he answered, licking 
his lips. “ He was over eighty, but he’d kept all 
his faculties, else ther’d been no joy in killing 
him. A week since, I went to him invisible, enter- 
ing the house with my blood cousin, now the Earl, 
soon after midnight returning from a carousal. He 
did not see me, of course, and I took care not to let 
him hear. But little care was needed, the degen- 
erate was filthy drunk. It was easy to find the old 


A CHAT WITH A MURDERER 257 

earl’s room, the young man got so sober passing it. 
The door was unlocked, too, so I had no trouble first 
and last. I went over to the old chap’s bed and 
looked at him and laughed to see. He slept with 
his mouth wide and his toothless gums were hide- 
ously funny. His teeth were in a glass of H2O 
' beside the bed. I pulled his nose to waken him, 
having first turned on the lights full. Then I 
played the ghost of my dead father. ‘ Your hour 
is come,’ says I. ‘ I’m the spirit of your bastard 
son come to warn you.’ He shook all over, pal- 
sied with fear. ‘No-^o— no,’ he gasped, ‘I’m 
not fit to die.’ ‘You’re not fit to live,’ I whispered, 
stern as fate. ‘ How have ' you treated the son 
of your bastard son? Have you been kind to him 
and helped him in the world.’ ‘Mercy, mercy!’ 
he whined. ‘ I know I have been remiss, but give 
one more chance — another year — a. week — a day 
—and I’ll do my duty. I’ll bar the entail, I’ll give 
him all.’ 

“‘Wretch!’ I hissed — and sat me on his chest. 
It was heaven sweet to hear his stifled moans. He 
did not struggle at all. And my only regret was 
it was so soon over. He broke a vessel and smoth- 
ered in his own blood. The papers announced 
next day that he had died of the syncope of senility 
peacefully while sleeping. Ha, ha, ha!” 

I echoed the heartless villain’s laugh, croaking 
out guffaws. The sound irritated him. “ Stop 
that raucous row!” he ordered. 


258 THE LIVING MUMMY 


‘‘ Then stop telling me funny stories, or else give 
me something to drink ! ’’ I snapped. 

He sprang afoot at once. “ Lord ! ” he cried, 
“ I’m not proposing to starve you to death. Why 
the deuce did you not remind me? You’ve been — 
let’s see — sixty hours without food.” 

‘‘ Sixty! ” I gasped. Impossible.” 

“ It’s a fact,” he said, and stalked out of the 
room. But he returned within a few minutes car- 
rying a tray set with cold meats and wine which 
he set on a little table and wheeled before me. 
Then he freed my right hand and stood over me 
with a revolver while I ate. But I could not eat 
at once, for the good reason that my arm was para- 
lyzed, and minutes passed before I could make use 
of it. Even then it pained like a raw scald. But I 
suppressed a reference to its condition and at the 
earliest instant cleared the board in the fashion of a 
famished wolf. Afterwards he bound me up again, 
standing behind me to do it, out of respect for my 
strength, no doubt. Then he put up his pistol and 
resumed his chair. 

“Upon my soul, I enjoy a chat with you,” he 
assured me. “ You see, I have no one else to con- 
fide in ” — ^here he grinned — and there’s a pecu- 
liar pleasure in unbosoming to a helpless enemy.” 

“The pleasure is mutual,” I protested courte- 
ously. “No other man has given me such mental 
pabulum.” 

He closed one eye in a very vulgar manner. 


A CHAT WITH A MURDERER 259 


** Confess you expire with curiosity to hear more 
of my beautiful fiancee — ^the woman you love ! ’’ 

‘‘ The more readily,” I responded, “ because I 
know you’ll be delighted to taunt me with the sat- 
isfaction of that same curiosity.” 

‘‘ Ah! ” said he. “ You are a foeman worthy of 
my steel. My heart warms with hate for you ; re- 
spectful hate.” He took out a silver pocket flask 
of spirit and filled the cup. 

At this he began to sip, eyeing me the while with 
secret delight at my carefully repressed impatience. 
But he was too anxious to torture me directly to 
keep me waiting long. 

She’s in a drugged sleep this moment,” he 
announced. ‘‘ I’ll keep her like that till after the 
funeral.” 

“ That’s unlike you,” I remarked. It’s almost 
kind.” 

Pish ! ” said he, ‘‘ I can’t afford to let her out 
of my control even for a moment.” 

“ So?” 

“ So.” 

“ But you will have to let her see her relatives, 
eh?” 

“ Fortunately she hasn’t one blood relation in 
England. Her mother was an Australian, a Vic- 
torian farmer’s daughter, and Ottley took good 
care not to marry the family. She has never even 
seen one of her mother’s people.” 

‘^But her father’s?” 


260 THE LIVING MUMMY 


** She is just as fortunately placed, from my point 
of view, in this regard. Ottley was the only son. 
And although I believe there is an old maiden aunt 
twice removed knocking round somewhere in 
Wales, I’m not afraid of her. She’s bedoHdden 
and a pensioner. As I’m trustee of the estate she’ll 
do what I tell her and stay where she is or I’ll 
know the reason why.” 

** I’m sure you will,” I agreed with pious fer- 
vour. 

“The Fates seem to have deliberately conspired 
to assist me in every possible way,” continued 
Belleville. “The only real woman friend Miss 
Ottley had. Lady Helen Hubbard, has gone to 
South America with her husband, and the only man 
friend who might have helped her sits in that chair. 
There is not another soul in England who has 
either the shadow of a right or interest to ques- 
tion my treatment. I’m her sole trustee and as 
well as that her legal guardian, for although she 
is over age she does not come into control of her 
fortune until she is twenty-seven unless she mar- 
ries in the meanwhile.” 

“You propose, of course, that she shall marry 
you. When ? ” 

“Oh, in a few days’ time. It will naturally be 
a secret marriage in order to save scandal. But 
I’m determined it shall take place immediately.” 

“And afterwards — how will you treat her?” 
I had hard work to grind this question out. 


A CHAT WITH A MURDERER 261 

Belleville gave a nasty laugh. “That depends 
on herself/' he answered. “ If she is a dutiful, 
docile wife she will have little cause to grumble.” 

“And— if not?” 

“ You know me and ask that? ” he cried. Then 
he laughed again, stood up and shook himself. 
“ I'm going to indulge in a nice comfortable sleep,” 
he said. “ You may not know it, Pinsent, but it’s 
almost midnight. Take my advice and go to by- 
by, too! Pleasant dreams to you and au revoir.” 
He went out gaping with yawns, but he turned out 
the lights as he went, and once more darkness en- 
folded me. 


Cliapter XXVII 
Unbound 

I T is not worth while describing the next few 
days. They were quite or almost colourless. 
Once each four and twenty hours, Belleville, 
taking sound precautions, released me for a short 
while from my prison chair to let me stretch my 
limbs and in the interests of keeping me alive for 
his own purposes. We had very little conversation, 
for he had fallen into a morose and gloomy mood, 
the result of an attack of insomnia. In answer to 
direct questions I learned that Sir Robert Ottley’s 
funeral had passed without incident, but that Miss 
Ottley's violent grief had been succeeded by a long 
stupor. She was being nursed by a creature of 
Belleville’s, an old Frenchwoman named Elise 
Lorraine in whom he evidently reposed a deal of 
confidence. Belleville spent most of his time at 
work in the laboratory, but what he did I could not 
see, for he conducted his labours behind my chair. 
On one occasion he gave way to a savage fit of pas- 
sion, and without any cause whatever that I could 
perceive, he broke a number of glass implements 
upon the floor. Another time, having cut his hand 
in some experiment, he revenged himself by flogging 


UNBOUND 


263 


me with a piece of whalebone until my flesh 
wherever he could reach it was covered with weals 
and blisters. He was not a nice man to live with 
and my hatred of him grew daily more intense. 
But perforce I was civil to him. On the eighth 
day he entered the room with a chalk-white face. 
I knew at once that something had happened; but 
I was not to learn what it was immediately. He 
disappeared forthwith behind my chair and for ten 
minutes stamped about swearing like a pagan. Then 
the lights went out of a sudden and he departed in 
the dark. He returned about four hours later, but I 
did not see him enter, although he put on the lights 
immediately. I heard him pass my chair; that was 
all. But a few seconds later a sharp and most 
acridly irritating odour filled the room, and soon 
afterwards he came forward and sank into his 
accustomed chair, opposite to mine. He looked 
positively ghastly. “ To-morrow morning England 
will mourn the loss of her greatest physician,” he 
announced in quivering tones. “ Sir Philip Lang 
has just committed suicide.” 

“What!” I cried in deep astonishment. “Sir 
Philip Lang ! ” 

He bared his teeth. “ The world will think so,” 
he snarled. “But in reality — but there, you shall 
judge. This afternoon without giving me notice 
the fool came to this house, forced his way into the 
sick room and had a long private conversation with 
May Ottley. I do not know to what conclusion 


264 THE LIVING MUMMY 


he came, but she must have persuaded him of her 
sanity, for he ordered Elise to take her out for a 
walk; and if it had not been that Elise refused to 
obey him pending my arrival there would have 
been a pretty kettle of fish for me to fry. How- 
ever, he won^t trouble me again.’’ 

‘‘You murdered him!” I gasped. 

“ Like an artist,” said Belleville. “ I stole upon 
him while he sat in his private sitting-room at 
supper and, standing opposite to him unseen, I 
reached out and poured some aconite into his wine. 
He was dead inside a quarter hour, and I took care 
that he made no outcry. The verdict should be 
suicide, I think. Don’t you ? ” 

With that he got up and left me. 

That night while I slept he dosed me with 
chloroform, and while I was senseless he drew over 
my clothes a suit of rubber overalls. He also did 
whatever was necessary to render me invisible, and 
he gagged me with a piece of steel thrust under my 
tongue and secured around my throat and neck 
with fine wire that bit deep in the flesh. I awoke 
groaning with agony to find that I was stretched 
out on the naked framework of an iron bed. 

Belleville stood over me grasping Miss Ottley 
by the hand. When I saw her I stopped groaning 
as if by instinct. I knew at once that she did not 
see anything except the bed. She looked well, but 
tragically sorrowful and wild. She was staring as 
it were through me. 


UNBOUND 


265 


“ You see nothing/' said Belleville's hollow 
voice, ‘‘ but his spirit lies there for all that. It is 
in my power and cannot escape without I set it 
free. You know my price. It is for you to rule 
his fate, through me if so you wish. 

“ What ! " he continued, ‘‘ do you not believe — 
well, then, look now ! " 

Of a sudden he flashed a blue lighted lanthorn 
into my face and he did something else which sent 
a thousand stinging currents of electric anguish 
quivering along my nerves. I uttered a shriek, but 
the gag stifled it to a hissing wail, and then I fell 
to breathing groans. Hell can have no worse tor- 
ments than that villain had devised for my undoing. 
Had my mouth been unfettered I should have be- 
sought the woman I adored for death at any price 
for rest of pain. As it was I prayed her with my 
eyes — and she saw and took a message. 

“Let him go!" she sobbed, “and I will marry 
you. Oh, this is horrible!" 

On instant the blue light faded out and a 
blessed heaven of diminished torture gave me peace. 

Belleville took from his breast a naked dagger 
which he put into the girl's hand. “ Strike, then ! " 
he said. “ Strike here," and he put his finger on 
my breast. 

The devil proposed to make his innocent victim 
a murderess. I saw his purpose, and with every 
atom of my strength I groaned. It was the only 
warning I could send. 


266 THE LIVING MUMMY 

But I had played right into Belleville’s hands. 

“ Hear him implore you ! ” cried Belleville. 

‘‘ Oh ! I can’t, I can’t,” she wailed. 

’Tis only a spirit — and it’s the only way,’^ he 
protested warmly. 

Miss Ottley swung around suddenly and drove 
the dagger at his heart, but he had been expecting 
it. He caught her wrist and laughed. Then all 
my anguish recommenced. In the midst of it, made 
desperate, the girl leaned right across the bed 
and struck. The blade glanced down upon a rib 
and deeply pierced my side. Providence, surely, 
had directed the blow. She withdrew the dagger, 
then screamed aloud to see it dripping with blood. 
Belleville caught her in his arms and bore her 
roughly back. He bent her body on a table until 
she was as helpless as a dove, then took the blad^ 
and drew the horrid thing across her lips; so they 
were carmined with my blood. 

“ By this and this you’ll remember you are mine,” 
he said, and kissed her lips till his were bloody, too. 
Then the two stared deep into each other’s eyes. 

“I’ve killed his body; you, his soul,” said Belle- 
ville. “We’re well mated, you and I. There 

I’ve no longer any fear you’ll hurt yourself. You’ll 
be henceforth too much afraid of him to die.” 

He let her go, and stood away from her. She 
swayed erect, then came forward till she stood be- 
side me. I held my very breath for fear that she 
would hear. I don’t know why. 


UNBOUND 


267 

It is all a trick — a cruel, devilish trick. There's 
nothing there ! ” said the girl, her bosom heaving 
as she spoke. 

Belleville laughed like a hyena. Feel— if you 

dare ! ” he cried. 

But she took him at his word. Her- hands went 
out and, guided by a dark blotch which, as after- 
wards I learned she saw, she put them on my wound 
and drew them swiftly back ensanguined. Then 
horror settled on her like a black cloud on a moun- 
tain top. She turned about with one loud gasp- 
ing sigh and sank down in a lifeless heap at Belle- 
ville's feet. 

Soon afterwards I swooned, too, from pain and 
loss of blood. When I awoke my wound was neatly 
bandaged, and I was once more seated in my chair. 

Belleville sat opposite smoking a cigar. He was 
dressed very smartly in a frock suit and a tall hat 
was set jauntily on his brow. He wore a ger- 
anium in his buttonhole. His face was wreathed 
in smiles. A bottle of champagne was set before 
him on a table and he sipped at a glass with an air 
of triumphant good-humour. 

I found that I could speak ; my gag had been re- 
moved. 

“Water!” I implored him. 

He started, then pressed forward with his glass. 
“ Where the devil is your mouth ? '' he said. 

He could not see me, that was plain. 

“Here!” said I. “Water.” 


268 THE LIVING MUMMY 

“ It is my wedding” morn — and you shall toast 
me in wine or go thirsting,” he rapped out. 

Then he found my lips and I drank life into my 
veins. I have never tasted draught one-half so 
glorious. 

“ I was married less than an hour ago,” he said, 
“ at a registrar’s office.” She’s no longer Miss 
Ottley, Pinsent.” 

I was silent. 

“Do you hear me, man?” he demanded. 

“ I hear,” I answered. 

He nodded his head and smiled. “I suppose 
you are wondering why you’re still alive, eh ? ” 

“You’ll die when I die,” I muttered wearily. 
“ You are afraid to kill me, that is why.” 

“ Bosh ! ” he flashed back. “ I have a better 
reason far. To-morrow she will be my wife in- 
<^eed — a maid no longer — Pinsent. It was worth 
keeping you alive to gloat on that.” 

“Oh! I see.” 

“ But you don’t see everything, Pinsent. She in- 
sists upon seeing your body to-day in order to be 
sure that you are dead.” 

“ Ah!” 

“ She still has a lingering doubt that I have 
tricked her, and she has sworn on the cross that un- 
less I produce your corpse for her inspection she 
will take her own life rather than — you can guess 
what, Pinsent.” 

“Yes — I can guess.” 


UNBOUND 


269 


“ So you see the time draws nigh for you to 
die/’ 

“ God only knows.” 

The villain frowned. “ But before you go you 
must do something for me.” 

“ And that?” 

“You must write her a letter telling her that 
your only hope of soul resurrection and salvation 
lies in her obeying me. She now considers me a 
dangerous magician, but I want her to regard me 
as a sort of deity.” 

“ I will not do it, Belleville. You ought to know 
me better by this.” 

“ I think you will,” said he. “ That is if you 
really care for her. You see it will save her a lot 
of — let’s call it inconvenience. With such a wea- 
pon as your message I can rule her kindly. But 
rule her in any case I shall. If you deny me Fll 
gag you this moment so you can’t make a sound, 
then I’ll bring her here and beat her as I would 
a dog. How will you like that ? ” 

“ I’ll write the letter,” I said huskily. 

A few minutes later the thing was done, and I 
had signed my name to the atrocious expressions 
of his demand. To transcribe them I am too 
ashamed. 

“ What now ? ” I asked. 

“The last scene in the last act,” said he, as he 
put the letter in his pocket. “ I may tell you that 
I intend always to keep your body by me — for 


270 THE LIVING MUMMY 

her to look at — if she ever shows a mind to mu- 
tiny/’ 

“ In spirits ? ” I questioned. 

“ The embalming oil of the princes of old Egypt. 
I found the receipt in Ptahmes’ tomb,” he answered. 
** I propose to convert you into a mummy.” 

|With that he took off his hat and coat, rolled 
up his sleeves and put on a huge oil-skin apron. 
“ I’ll not kill you till the last moment necessary,” 
he observed. “ In fact, you’ll be half-mummy be- 
fore you die; I have a curiosity to discover if the 
process of substitution is painful. I rather think 
it must be.” 

He moved over as he spoke to the sarcophagus 
and began to shift the objects that sealed up the 
mouth. It took him some minutes to do so, and 
as he put down the couch, last of all, one of the 
castors crashed upon his toe. He cursed the mis- 
fortune like a madman and danced about the floor 
on one foot like a dervish, winding up by striking 
me brutally with closed fist on the lips. That gave 
him back his self-control. 

“I’ll teach you to laugh at me,” he growled. 
Then he returned to his work and stooping over 
the great coffin he hauled out the lifeless mummy 
that had rested there so long. For an instant I 
glimpsed the strange dead features of the diist 
of Ptahmes which so strikingly resembled the ef- 
figy carven on the lid of the sarcophagus and also 
the Arab who had twice in Egypt attempted to 


UNBOUND 


271 


destroy me. Then Belleville carelessly threw the 
thing upon the couch; and traversed the room to 
where stood three glass jars filled with a dark vis- 
cous fluid. One by one he rolled these on end across 
the floor till all three stood beside the coffin. After- 
wards he disappeared, behind my chair, returning 
soon, his head covered with a long breathing mask. 
I watched him — one may guess with what passion- 
ate attention. He unscrewed the stopper of the 
nearest jar, seized the thing bodily in his arms and 
poured out the contents into the sarcophagus. A 
curious cloud-like steam arose that hazed the pros- 
pect, but soon it dissipated. The air was filled with 
the perfume I had first smelt in the cave temple 
of the Hill of Rakh. But it was not altogether 
overpowering. It made my pulses throb and 
brought a great rush of blood to my head and hands 
and feet much as would the scent of amyl nitrate. 
But it did not take away my senses. Belleville, pro- 
tected by his mask, was in no way affected. He 
quickly unstoppered the second jar, and added its 
contents to the first. Then he turned and ap- 
proached me, taking off his helmet as he came. The 
action apprised me that the wonderful perfume had 
almost died away. There was now a healthy and 
stimulating odour in the room that resembled boil- 
ing tar. Evidently the two jars had contained 
different chemicals. A loud, seething, bubbling 
sound was plainly to be heard; it came from the 
sarcophagus. 


272 THE LIVING MUMMY 

Belleville sat down and wiped his forehead with 
a handkerchief. “ We must give the stuff ten min- 
utes to mix,” he said and, taking out his watch, he 
glanced at the time. “ It^s twenty past eleven,” 
he remarked. “You’ll begin to mummify at the 
half hour precisely, Pinsent, so if you are a reli- 
gious man you’d best compose your soul in prayer.” 

I am not ashamed to say that I followed his 
advice. I closed my eyes and asked the Omnipo- 
tent for remission of my sins. And since it seemed 
to me that my hour had come, I resolutely put aside 
my detestation of the monster who designed to 
murder me, and I even asked for his forgiveness, 
too. Then a great, deep, splendid peace mantled 
over me, and for the first time in my life I truly 
realised the littleness of man’s existence and th^ 
majesty of resignation. It was almost worth 
while to go through all I had been compelled to en- 
dure to experience at the end that mood of grand, 
calm dignity. I felt almost sublimely detached 
from my surroundings. I opened my eyes at last 
and said with perfect calm: 

“ I am ready, Belleville.” 

He stood up and stretched out his arms, yawn- 
ing widely. Then of a sudden everything was dark. 

“ What in Hell ?” shouted Belleville. I 

heard him rush forward cursing angrily, then he 
stumbled and fell headlong to the floor amidst a 
crash of glass. In the same instant unseen hands 
fumbled over me. My bonds suddenly relaxed and 


UNBOUND 


273 


I was free. I stood up, stiff bul*^ quivering in every 
nerve. There followed a rasping sound, a match 
flickered into light, and I saw Belleville rising from 
the ruins of a broken jar. He held the lucifer above 
his head, and it showed standing at an angle between 
us the tall frame of the Arab of the cave temple 
at Rakh. 

Belleville ripped out an oath. There came a 
blinding flash of light and the deafening report of 
a revolver. I staggered from the chair to the wall 
and leaned against it, helpless as a babe. The 
echoes were still thundering in rolling waves of 
brain-dazing sound from wall to wall when the 
pitch blackness of the room was again relieved by 
the glare of electricity. Belleville had succeeded 
in turning on the lights. He stood by the door peer- 
ing all about him. For a mornent I thought all 
was up. I was free, certainly, but my muscles were 
so cramped and tautened that I could hardly move 
a finger. I was not fit to contend against a breath 
of wind, let alone a burly ruffian like the Doctor. 
But the next instant I remembered I was still in- 
visible. I could not see my own hand held before 
m^, and I had immediate proof that he was unable 
to perceive me. 

‘‘ Where are you, Pinsent ? are you hurt ? ” he 
cried. 

I did not answer, but, following his glance, I 
looked at the couch and there I saw what utterly 
astounded me. The mummy of Ptahmes lay upon 


274 THE LIVING MUMMY 


the couch in exactly the same attitude as when 
Belleville had flung it there aside from the sar- 
cophagus. Who, then, or what, had set me free ? I 
examined the apartment eagerly, but saw nothing 
living save Belleville, who with cocked revolver 
thrust out before him now stepped forward 
cautiously into the room, waving his arms about 
him as he walked, and muttering, as he walked, 
through clenched teeth a string of angry blas- 
phemies. 


Chapter XXVIII 

The Struggle in the Chamber 

T he advantage I possessed was dangerously 
minimised by my physical incapacity, but 
I hoped, given time, to get back some meas- 
ure of strength. The great thing was to preserve 
my liberty until I had acquired force enough to use 
it. I speedily realised that I could not remain where 
I was, for Bellville was making towards me and re- 
flection would soon teach him that weakness would 
compel me to seek a prop for my support. But I 
feared to move lest the sound should betray my 
whereabouts. For the same reason I almost feared 
to breathe. I thought to myself, “ Oh, that he would 
fire again so that I could move elsewhere under 
cover of the noise.” 

Once or twice he seemed to loot me in the eye. 
He made a zigzag to my chair. There he paused 
and listened. I ceased to breathe. Only six feet 
separated us. But impatience consumed him. 
‘‘Tell me where you are!” he growled, “or by 
the Lord when I catch you I’ll tear you limb from 
limb.” I breathed while he spoke and ceased when 
he stopped. 

“ You can’t escape me! ” he snarled. “ I’ve only 

275 


276 THE LIVING MUMMY 


to light my blue lamp and I’ll find you in a minute. 
But if you put me to that trouble and make me 
waste my precious oil besides, well, look out, that’s 
all!” 

I clenched and unclenched my hands; the use of 
them was coming back to me. 

‘‘Very well,” said Belleville. He passed my 
chair and stalked to the other end of the room, 
where he opened a cabinet. I moved slowly and 
painfully to the very centre of the room. Then I 
stood stock still. Belleville, returning, paused within 
a foot of me. He carried a bull’s-eye lanthorn. 
This he put upon the table, and presently he struck 
a match. A moment later a round shaft of intense 
blue radiance shot across the room and marked a 
moon-shaped sphere on the wall. It began to flit 
along the wall, up and down from the very floor 
to the height of a man’s chest, until it touched the 
corner. Then it flashed back twice over the same 
path, and afterwards attacked the next wall. 
Sooner or later it would be bound to encounter 
and, perhaps, discover me. But Belleville was only 
a few feet off. Perhaps if I sank down the shaft 
would pass over me without touching. At least I 
could try. Suppressing a shriek of agony, I 
crouched upon my hands and knees. Then came 
another thought. Slowly and laboriously I began 
to crawl nearer and nearer to my enemy. The blue 
shaft was now shooting right over my head. I 
crept behind him and, breathing noiselessly, stood 


STRUGGLE IN THE CHAMBER 277 

up. If I had possessed a tithe of my strength I 
might have reached out and caught his neck and 
strangled him with ease. But I dared not risk it. 
All on a sudden he uttered an oath. The lamp had 
gone out. Damn the thing ! ” he growled. Put- 
ting down his revolver on the table, he opened the 
lamp and peered in at the smoking wick. We were 
now face to face and his cocked weapon lay within 
eighteen inches of my hand. I tried my fingers 
and found that they were reasonably supple. The 
blood was streaming through the puffy veins and 
vesicles. The operation hurt horribly; in fact, I 
was one mass of crude, raw, painful man flesh. But 
now I was full of hope and despite the muscular 
torments of returning animation I felt that my 
vigour was returning. Belleville snuffed the wick 
and struck a match along the table. The head 
came off. He took another and rubbed it on the 
sole of his shoe, stooping slightly to do so. As he 
moved I reached out and twined my fingers round 
the hilt of his revolver. But I had not the strength 
to lift it up. I cannot paint the agony of that ex- 
perience. I exerted every atom of my will, but 
my hand was like a putty puppet. Tantalus never 
suffered torture half as keen. Withdrawing my 
hand, I put the fingers in my mouth and sucked 
the still half-lifeless digits. Meanwhile, the lamp 
flickered alight ; Belleville took up his revolver and 
resumed his task. I watched him hungrily. The 
blue shaft once more began to play and stab the 


278 THE LIVING MUMMY 


walls. It darted hither and thither, like an incan- 
descent elf, dancing up and down and round and 
round, and into every hole and cranny of the room. 
But it did not find me out, because moving round 
and round the table as Belleville moved I always 
kept behind him. But this could not last for ever, 
and, indeed, the end came too soon. Belleville 
uttered suddenly a savage curse and swung round 
full upon me. Perhaps I had made some sound 
that had betrayed me to his nerve-strained senses. 
I do not know. He cried, “ Ha ! at last,” and fired 
point blank. The bullet whistled past my temple. 
The smoke of the discharge flamed blue in the rays 
of the lanthorn. I fell upon the table and thrust 
it like a ram with all my force against my adver- 
sary. He fired again and once more missed, but 
ere he could repeat his tactics the table struck him 
and the lanthorn fell. He staggered back and the 
lanthorn rolled underneath the table. I pushed! 
the table forward and kicked the lanthorn with 
my foot. It went out. Belleville, recovering his 
equilibrium, stood like an image peering straight at 
me and listening. Yet he did not see me : and for 
the moment I was safe, for the table was between 
us. But the man had brains. Judging swiftly 
where I was most likely to be, he gave an unex- 
pected spring and vaulted clear across the obstacle. 
I had just time to step back ere he landed. He 
swung his arms about like flails, but failing imme- 
diately to find me, his ugly temper must needs 


STRUGGLE IN THE CHAMBER 279 


flare up in curses. It was just what I needed to 
cover the sound of my movements. I evaded him- 
and returned to the table, and then he knew not 
where I was. In a few moments he realised his 
folly and, once more relapsing into silence, he took 
up his lamp. But the oil had either been wasted 
or was exhausted. The wick refused to catch. He 
groaned out a blasphemous oath on this discovery, 
and rushed down to the cabinet, from which first he 
had procured the lanthorn. I followed him a,s, 
swiftly as I could, having care to make no sound, 
and while he was filling the lamp with oil fromi a 
beautifully carven vase of solid gold Egyptian ware 
of the fifteenth dynasty, I once more put my hand 
upon the hilt of his revolver, which he had momen- 
tarily laid upon the edge of the cabinet. But this 
time I found I could hold and use it, too. Shadow- 
like, I caught it up and put my finger on the trig- 
ger. Then I backed away a yard or two and 
leaned upon a case of glass and steel. 

** Belleville ! said I. 

He started as though an adder had stung him, 
then seeing his pistol gone, he let both vase and 
lanthorn fall in his dismay and swung on heel to 
face my voice. 

“ It’s my turn now,” I muttered. ‘‘ Hands above 
your head — up, man, up — higher — ^higher!” He 
saw the muzzle pointing at his breast and sullenly 
obeyed. I made him; walk backwards to the chair 
that formerly had prisoned me and sit in it. And 


280 THE LIVING MUMMY 


then, the steel pressed to his ear to keep him still, 
I managed, with one hand, to pass a strap around 
his throat and buckle it. Afterwards I similarly 
bound his wrists and ankles. When all was done 
I was so sore spent, so hideously full of weary pain, 
that I lay upon the floor and sank immediately 
into a troubled sleep. Belleville woke me with 
his struggles to get free. Somehow or other he 
had pryed himself on tiptoe backward, and the 
heavy chair, overbalancing, had dragged him over 
in its fall. That I had not heard, but the weight 
of iron and his own body was all curiously pressed 
upon one forearm, and the pain of it set him groan- 
ing like a wounded bull. The strangest thing of 
all was that this arm was free. Somehow or other 
he had writhed it loose. After I had tied it up 
again I sat down to think what I should do. I was 
not, however, in the mood to sit in judgment on 
him then, for although much stronger from my 
sleep, the exertion hurt, and every pang I suffered 
was too powerful an advocate of vengeance to let 
me try the rascal soberly. I needed food and drink. 
Not finding any in the room, I tried the door and 
after some short search, made out its fastening — 
a simple but clever slip of prodigious strength. I 
found the key to it in Belleville's pocket. He was 
madly anxious to be made acquainted with his fate, 
but I turned a deaf ear to all his questions, and 
slipping out of the room, I slammed the door on his 
solicitations. I found myself in a long, blind pas- 


STRUGGLE IN THE CHAMBER 281 


sage, lighted with a single jet, with another padded 
door set in its farthest end. This opened to the 
same key as the first. It gave me egress on a sec- 
ond passage, which led by three right angles to a 
big velvet-draped arch and a bifurcated maze of 
broad-balconied corridors. Here I saw the natural 
light of day for the first time in more than a week. 
Ah ! how I revelled in it. I stopped before an open 
window and peered forth on a walled courtyard 
and the blank, tall wall of a neighbouring mansion 
beyond. Street sounds percolated to my ears. It 
was like coming back to life from the grave. Draw- 
ing back from the window, after some deep, de- 
licious moments, I looked to find my body and my 
hands and feet. But I could not see aught but 
vague, delusive shadows, though the sunbeams glis- 
tened on me. The phenomenon filled me with a 
new sense of marvel and uncertainty. I had to 
pinch myself to make sure I was not a disembodied 
phantom — such stuff as dreams are made of. Yet 
I was real enough to touch, thank Heaven. Reas- 
sured, I made for the nearest door and softly tried 
it. Within was a man’s bedroomi — Belleville’s, per- 
haps. It was untenanted. The next apartment 
was a sitting-room. It was also untenanted, but 
it contained a table, cover-spread for two. With a 
sigh of joy, I entered and hurried to the table. 
Under the first cover was a cold partridge pie. I 
did not touch the others, but, Lord, how I enjoyed 
that pie! I might have been a wolf — and then 


282 THE LIVING MUMMY 


champagne! Later, seduced by an open cigar-box 
on the mantel, I threw myself upon a lounge and lit 
a weed. In ten minutes I was my own man again, 
and almost comfortable, for the torments that had 
racked my wretched muscles on reawakening from 
their tethered lethargy, were disappearing fast. 
But I was not permitted longer rest. Warned by 
a tap on the door, I had barely time to toss my 
cigar into the grate, when the door opened and a 
short, squat negro stepped into the room. He car- 
ried a salver of sweetmeats to the table ; he stopped 
short and uttered a guttural exclamation of sur- 
prise. Next instant he was joined by a companion, 
but no negro, an Arab, a tall, thin Arab, who was 
the living counterpart of the mummified corpse of 
Ptahmes I had left in the laboratory, and of the 
mysterious scoundrel who had attempted my life 
in the cave temple at Rakh, and at my camp on 
the banks of the Nile. I was so utterly astounded 
that I wonder I did not shout out my amazement. 

The negro spoke in Arabic. “By Allah, he 
has eaten and alone,” he cried. “Now tell me, 
Ptahmes, how a man shall serve a master with 
so little feeling for his servants.” 

The Arab stalked solemnly over to the table 
and eyed the ruined pie. 

‘‘ He hungered. He ate. May his shadow in- 
crease,” he drawled. 

“For my part,” retorted the Nubian, with an 
ill-natured scowl, “ his shadow may wither and I 
shall not grieve. It is impossible to please him.” 


STRUGGLE IN THE CHAMBER 283 

His gold is good and hard and yellow and 
much, said the Arab, in a sort of sing-song. 

‘'Add to that ill-got,” replied the negro, ‘‘and 
I shall be an echo to your speech. Natamkin tells 
me that the lady weeps still, though no more a 
prisoner, and he took her forth into his whirling 
Babel town this morning. He has put a spell on 
her to deprive her of her gold.” 

“ What matter if he shares it with his slaves ? ” 
demanded the Arab. 

“ I fear him,” said the Nubian. 

“ I also,” drawled the Arab. “ But guard your 
idle tongue Uromi! He may be listening to us 
now.” 

The negro shuddered and made as if to hastily 
depart. But the Arab laughed, and he stopped 
looking both angry and ashamed. 

“Allah!” he exclaimed, “you laugh, but you 
may have spoken true.” 

“Ugh!” said the Arab, “he has bigger fish to 
fry — the white man you enticed into the room of 
wonders dies to-day.” 

“ You — know that, Ptahmes! ” 

‘‘Ay — I am to help him to embalm the body. 
Now I think of it, I wonder he has eaten. I was 
to stir the pot while he made merry with the lady 
over wine — the unbelieving dog. At one of the 
clock he ordered me to go to him. 'Tis almost 
time.” 

“ Will you not fear to stay alone in that great 
room of magic, Ptahmes?” 


284 THE LIVING MUMMY 


‘‘Like enough, Uromi, but I shall think me of 
the pay and work with tight-shut eyes till he re- 
turns.’’ 

“ What has he promised you ? ” 

“ Five pieces of gold, Uromi. Do you covet 
them?” 

“I would not cross the threshold of that room 
for ten times five.” 

“ You have a chicken’s heart, Uromi.” 

“ And you a miser’s gizzard.” 

The Arab uttered a sardonic laugh. “ Get to 
your woman’s work ! ” he sneered. “ And clear 
those things away! You had better tell Natamkin 
to serve the lady in her room ! ” 

“And you — oh, great Lord!” growled the Nu- 
bian, with elephantine sarcasm'. 

The Arab, however, did not trouble himself to 
answer. ;With a mien of princely dignity he 
stalked in silence to the door and vanished. 

I said to myself, “ There, without doubt, goes 
the man who, in the nick of time, released me from 
my bonds. He is my friend.” The reflection gave 
me substantial satisfaction, for much against my 
will I had hitherto been compelled to ascribe my 
salvation to a supernatural agency. But now all 
was changed. Without doubt the Arab had been 
secretly watching over me, and when the time came 
he turned out the lights, rushed into the laboratory 
and unfastened my straps. Afterwards, 'he had 
adroitly managed to escape before Belleville could 


STRUGGLE IN THE CHAMBER 285 

turn on the lights again. No doubt, too, this Arab 
was the man of my dream, who had bargained 
with me to kill Belleville when I got free, to destroy 
the mummy of Ptahmes, the Priest of Amen-Ra—- 
and his papyri and steles. Why he should have 
driven such a bargain I could not fathom. And 
why, moreover, he should have taken the trouble 
to impersonate the mummy and pretend he could 
not speak, I was also at a loss to understand. 
Suddenly I remembered that the animated mummy 
of my dream had conversed with me in the tongue 
of Ancient Egypt per medium of a slate and had 
seemed. not to understand modern Arabic. Also, 
his left hand had been removed — and this Arab 
enjoyed the undiminished use of his. My head 
whirled at the contemplation of these essential 
contradictions. Were they one and the same man 
or not? Was it possible that Belleville’s Arab 
servant could be a professor of the language of 
Sesostris? And I recollected, too, how closely I 
had scrutinised the ghostly mummy’s face and 
realised its utter deadness. The mystery, after all, 
was not to be as easily solved as my first warm 
flush of fancy had conceived. Realising this, I 
put it out of mind and arose to address myself to 
the practical affair that lay before me. The Nubian 
was in the act of quitting the room, laden with a 
heavy tray of dishes. I followed him out into the 
corridor and leisurely made back to the laboratory. 
I met nobody en route, but once inside the blind 


286 THE LIVING MUMMY 


passage, which opened on my old prison chamber, 
I became aware that something had gone wrong. 
The air was heavy with the mysterious scent of the 
sarcophagus. Moreover, the door of the laboratory 
which I had been careful to shut close was now 
ajar. Instinctively, I slipped the key I had just 
used on the outer door, into my mouth and hurried 
softly up the passage. There a bewildering sur- 
prise awaited me. The laboratory was apparently 
untenanted by living beings. The mummy of 
Ptahmes still lay upon the couch. The straps which 
had fastened Belleville to the chair were all unfas- 
tened and Belleville himself had disappeared. Yet 
there were noises in the room, noises of footfalls 
and the tinkling of glass. Presently I saw a large 
glass phial move quietly from a marble slab and 
stand poised in air. A second later the stopper, 
which had been laid beside it, sprang up, too, and 
settled neatly in the phial’s mouth. Then the bottle 
leaped up high into the air and settled, with mys- 
terious precision, on a shelf. I stared at these won- 
ders half-understanding, half-dazed. But soon I 
comprehended all. Belleville’s voice speaking in 
Arabic came to me through the hush. 

** That will do, I think. There only remains 
for us to steal upon him' now and take him by 
surprise. Serve me well in this, Ptahmes, and I 
shall treble your reward.” 

“ The man is of iron strength, master,” answered 
the Arab’s voice. “ It is true that we are two to 


STRUGGLE IN THE CHAMBER 287 

one and he is unsuspicious, but I should like well 
to have a knife.’’ 

“Nonsense,” retorted Belleville. “I cannot 
make steel invisible. We must needs trust to the 
sandbags. Now lead on to the lady’s room and 
take care from this moment that you make no 
sound.” 

On this I left the doorway and, slipping into the 
opposite corner, pressed flat against the wall. 
Presently the door creaked open and I heard the 
noise of breathing. I followed it as gently as a 
shadow, halting sharply when I could not hear it 
or it grew too near. I was weaponless^ — for I had 
left Belleville’s revolver in the laboratory ere for 
the first time leaving it. But still, I dared not arm 
myself, for to have done so would have given my 
adversaries, sooner or later, a certain clue to my 
position; and my only hope of worsting them now 
consisted in preserving my absolute invisibility and 
at the same time knowing where, in the general 
sense, they were. My first great difficulty arose 
in the passage of the outer door. I dared not slip 
out with them, and since they locked it after them, 

I was forced to wait some time before I deemed 
it safe to open it again. Thus, when I reached the 
outer passage there was absolutely nothing left to 
guide my steps. However, I hurried to the arch 
and thence looked forth along the bifurcated corri- 
dor. Seeing and hearing nothing, I sank to the 
floor, and like an Indian pressed my ear against 


288 THE LIVING MUMMY 


the boards. One far-off panel a little later creaked 
distinctly. Wood, though carpeted, is a fine sound 
conductor. This gave me the direction. Hot foot 
I followed it. But soon I came to a corner and 
beyond a short, wide cul-de-sac, with three closed 
doors. Here I stopped with straining ears and 
listened with a beating heart and bated breath. 
The conspirators were there, beyond the scope of 
doubt; and presently I knew the door they wished 
to pass. I saw the handle turn and heard a sigh. 
“Locked,^’ murmured a voice in English — then in 
Arabic it breathed. “ Keep closely by me, Ptahmes, 
hold my coat ! ’’ Three sharp raps followed on 
the panels. A voice that thrilled me, asked within 
the room, “ Who is there ? ” 

A voice, the cleverly twisted voice of Belleville, 
answered in a sharp falsetto from without, ‘‘ It is 
I, my dear young lady. Sir Philip Lang.’’ 

The door was immediately opened and I saw the 
sad face of my sweetheart. 

“ Sir Philip ! ” she cried — then, seeing no one, 
she stopped, dismayed. Of a sudden she uttered 
a shriek and fell back into the room, back, 
back, clasping her hands to her neck and struggling 
to cry out. I guessed the reason instantly — Belle- 
ville had seized her by the throat. I sprang to her 
assistance, but paused again — ^by a miracle, in time 
^ — ^just across the threshold. Miss Ottley — I shall 
not, cannot call her Mrs. Belleville, though, in- 
deed, she was — ^went spinning across the room, 


STRUGGLE IN THE CHAMBER 289 

free, I saw. I slipped along the wall beside the lintel 
and waited, holding breath. What next? The 
door slammed and the bolt shot in answer to my 
question. Then came a long silence. Miss Ottley 
stood beside the farthest wall, supporting herself 
on the back of a saddle-bag chair, a picture of hor- 
ror and fear personified. I would have given all 
the world for liberty to soothe her fears, to take 
her in my arms and comfort her. But it was not 
to be. Everything depended on my cunning and 
my silence. Tearing my glances from her ashen 
face, I looked around the room. It was her bed- 
room. The bed occupied one corner. Beside the 
canopy was an open window through which the 
light streamed in, striking full upon the door. 
Against another wall stood a Duchesse toilet table 
and a huge bemirrored’ clothes chest of carveni 
ivory and ebony. The floor was covered with a 
thick pile carpet of dark crimson hue. The win- 
dow curtains were of purple velvet. The bed’s 
canopy of crimson silk. The walls were painted 
black and gold. It was, indeed, a mourning cham- 
ber. 

Who is it — ^who is it ? ” gasped the white-faced, 
black-robed mourner. I glanced at her again and 
saw that one hand was pressed tightly to her side. 

No answer coming, she repeated her demand 
with more composure. Then a curious thing hap- 
pened. A board creaked, and looking swiftly at the 
floor, I saw the imprint of a foot marked in the pile. 


290 THE LIVING MUMMY 


It vanished and the pile sprang up again resiliently, 
but, twenty inches farther onward towards the girl, 
a second sole-shaped hollow formed itself and there 
remained. An instant's flashing search disclosed 
three others. I now knew for certain the position 
of my enemies, and with a wild heart-throb of 
joy I nerved myself for action. The shape of the 
footmarks showed me that both men faced the girl, 
and that they were standing about a yard apart. 
With two noiseless strides, I stepped behind the 
rearmost. Then I stooped and seized a pair of 
hard, lean thighs and heaved a body up and sent it 
hurling through the air above the second set of 
footprints. “I’ve got you again, you dog!” I 
cried; then stepped back swift and noiseless to my 
former place. The trick was perfectly successful. 
Silent, save for their heavy breathing and the 
trembling of their feet, the rascals writhed and 
stamped about the room, locked, doubtless, in a 
close embrace, although I could not see them. As 
for me, I slipped presently to a chair, caught it 
up, and guided by a sound, I brought it crashing 
down upon the head of one of them. There fol- 
lowed a heavy groan, then a dagger blade flashed 
out of nothingness and once, twice, thrice, it rose 
and fell. Murder was being done before my eyes, 
but I had only half a mind to stay it, and indeed, 
before I could the knife had vanished into mist 
again, and all to be seen was a dark flow of scarlet 
fluid that welled in air and sank upon the carpet. 


STRUGGLE IN THE CHAMBER 291 


I waited spellbound. Which was alive — which was 
dead? 

Belleville’s voice put the question at rest sud- 
denly. “ Well done, Ptahmes,” he gasped in Ara- 
bic. “ He had me throttled when you struck. You 
shall have fifty pounds for this day’s work.” 

‘‘ Thanks, good master.” I returned and edged 
towards his voice. But at that moment Miss Ott- 
ley fell in a swoon, and death could hardly have 
availed to keep me from her side. With a bound 
I was across the room, and in another second she 
was in my arms. 

Belleville must have seen, but thinking me the 
Arab, instead of chiding, he commended me. “ Carry 
her to the laboratory,” he commanded. I’ll fol- 
low with this carrion. We must dispose of it. Nay, 
wait. I’ll go first. Damn him., how he bleeds ! ” 
he added in English. Then a little later, “ He is 
wonderfully light for so tall and strong a man.” 

By then he must have had the Arab’s body in 
his arms. I heard heavy footfalls stamping to the 
door. Carrying my burden, I followed them. The 
door opened and we both passed out. I hated the 
thought of taking my sweetheart to that room of 
horror, but I could not bear to leave her where she 
had been so terrified, to recover by herself. And in 
the next place I did not dare to let Belleville even 
for a moment out of my reach. He would soon 
be bound to discover his mistake and then the 
fight would be renewed with the advantage all on 


292 THE LIVING MUMMY 


his side, since he was armed with a weapon, which, 
it was evident, he could conceal till the time came 
for using it. Prudence demanded that I should 
seize and disarm Belleville before his suspicions be- 
came excited. Prudence also demanded that I 
should leave my sweetheart somewhere on the jour- 
ney. But I could not bring myself to do the lat- 
ter, her face so near to mine, her breath upon my 
lips. That is why I went to the laboratory, and 
why I took her with me. ^ 


Chapter XXIX 
Saved by Fire 

B ELLEVILLE'S first act, after tossing the 
Arab's corpse upon the floor and bolting 
the laboratory door, was to rush over to 
the couch and remove therefrom the mummy of 
Ptahmes. This he placed with careful haste upon 
a marble slab, and he commanded me, in Arabic, 
meanwhile, to carry the lady to the couch. I 
obeyed him in silence. He then ordered me to take 
up the body of the Englishman, Pinsent, and bring 
it to the sarcophagus. This gave me’ an opportu- 
nity to examine the Arab. I did so, and found him 
quite dead. Belleville’s dagger had twice pierced 
his heart. I then raised the corpse and carried it 
to the great lead coffin. ‘‘What next, master?’* 
I asked in guttural Arabic. 

Belleville's voice answered from behind me. 
“Lift the carrion up! That is well. Now let it 
slip into the bath! Gently, Ptahmes, gently — or 
the stuff will splash. Here — I will help you.” 

“Where?” I demanded. I was trying to locate 
him. 

“Wait,” he replied — ^then “Here!” His voice 
sounded from across the sarcophagus. 

293 


294 THE LIVING MUMMY 


A second later his hand brushed one of mine and 
passed. ‘‘ I’ll take the shoulders,” he said. “ You 
take the feet ! Be careful, man — gently, gently ! ” 
It was maddening to be so near and yet so far. 
But there was nothing for it except to follow his 
directions. I, therefore, grasped the corpse firmly 
by the ankles, when the greater weight of it had 
been transferred, and then I watched the great blood 
clot upon its chest — the only visible sign of its ex- 
istence — sink down, down to the liquid contents 
of the coffin. Soon it rested there like a crimson 
lily on the surface of a pond. I let my fingers loose 
their hold and the unseen limbs of the corpse sub- 
sided on the liquid with an oily swish. The whole 
corpse seemed to be floating. Belleville realised 
this as soon as 1. “ Wait here ! ” he said to me — 
then added in English, speaking to himself. 
Where the deuce did I put that glass rod ? Ah ! 
I remember.” Then I heard the thud of his re- 
treating steps, and a little later I saw waveringly ap- 
proaching me from across the room, apparently of 
its own volition, a long, glass, solid bar, about four 
feet long and an inch thick. I was overjoyed at the 
sight, for my hands were free, Belleville could not 
see me, and the glass rod informed me exactly 
of his whereabouts. Quick as thought, I slipped 
around the sarcophagus and making a little detour, 
got behind the murderer. He went straight to the 
coffin and plunged the rod within it. Doubtless 
he was using it to submerge the corpse. I heard a 


SAVED BY FIRE 295 

hissing*, bubbling sound, and Belleville saying, 
“ Watch me closely, Ptahmes — for this is what you 
must do.” 

I crept upon him until I could hear his breathing 
quite distinctly, although he was not greatly exert- 
ing himself. Then came the time to act. ‘‘My 
God!” he suddenly exclaimed — “not Pinsent — 
Ptahmes — what’s this?” 

The glass rod was still. It stood bolt upright in 
the sarcophagus, and so rigidly motionless that I 
guessed Belleville’s weight was leaning on it. I 
gave a swift glance into the coffin and almost 
shrieked with surprise. The liquid had made the 
dead Arab visible again, and his death-mask grinned 
up at us with a fixed and blood-curdling stare. On 
instant I opened my arms wide and threw them 
round my unseen enemy. He uttered a howl of 
rage and terror and turned within my grasp to fight 
me, biting and clawing like a savage beast. But 
very soon I mastered him. Disregarding his ani- 
mal-like efforts, I seized him by the throat and beat 
his skull upon the edge of the sarcophagus until 
he had quite ceased to struggle. Then, anxious, of 
all things, to make sure of him by seeing him, I 
heaved him up and allowed him to slide headfore- 
most down into the bath beside the Arab he had 
murdered in mistake for me. I reasoned that since 
the liquid there had made the Arab visible, it should 
produce a like effect on Belleville. But I was ut- 
terly unprepared for the result. The stuff must 


290 THE LIVING MUMMY 


have been an acid of tremendous power. It awak- 
ened the senseless wretch to almost instant tortured 
consciousness. A series of dreadful shrieks filled 
the room with strange detonating echoes. Belleville 
was no sooner in the coffin than out of it and visible 
in part. His face and hands were plainly to be 
seen. They came out white and dripping wtt, but 
a few seconds' contact with the air turned them red 
as blood. I seized the glass rod to defend myself, 
Expecting an attack. But there was no need to 
use it. The shrieking wretch staggered down the 
room to the first dispensing cabinet. He tore the 
door open and clutched at a big phial, the contents 
of which he poured upon his hands and splashed 
upon his face, wailing all the while like a lost soul 
in the depths of Hell. Happily he did not keep 
this up for long. The drug that he applied to his 
hurts, whatever it was, must have salved them, for 
in a moment or two his heart-rending outcries sub- 
sided to a deep, low sobbing. Even that, however, 
was more than I could stand. I wanted Belleville 
dead, but I could not endure the sight and sound 
of his agony— agony that I, unwittingly, had 
caused. 

“Belleville," I called out, “can I help you?" 

He gasped and caught his breath, turning his 
face towards me. To my surprise it was no longer 
scarlet. It had caught the hue of leather, and the 
eyes were mantling purple at the whites. 

“I did not know the stuff was acid," I contin- 







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SAVED BY FIRE 


297 

ued. ‘‘If there is anything I can do to soothe 
your suffering, I shall and gladly.” 

“You dog!” said he. “YouVe ruined me and 
now you are gloating over your handiwork.” 

With that, he put his hand in his bosom and be- 
gan to steal in my direction. I remembered his 
concealed dagger and called out, “Be warned, 
Belleville — can see you. Your dagger will not 
help you.” 

“ Oh ! Oh ! Oh I ” he groaned, and stopped 
short. 

“ Hugh Pinsent's voice — oh. Heaven ! ” cried 
Miss Ottley — behind me. She had awakened from 
her swoon. 

I swung on heel and watched her rise. “ Hugh ! ” 
she sighed. “Hugh — ^where are you, dear?” 
Then she saw Belleville, and the hideous apparition 
he presented, a black pain-tortured face hovering 
in mid-air, with two dark, ghostly hands out- 
stretched before it, froze her blood. Mercifully, 
she swooned again and fell back senseless on the 
lounge. Belleville recommenced his moaning, and 
began walking up and down wringing his hands. I 
stood silent, lost in thought and wondering what I 
ought to do. Belleville told me. He stopped on a 
sudden and called my name twice, “ Pinsent, Pin- 
sent.” 

“Here!” said I. 

“ I am at your mercy now,” he muttered, in a 
broken voice. “ I'm blind.” 


298 THE LIVING MUMMY 


“What!” I cried. 

“ Ay,” said he, “ and my facial extremities are 
dying fast — ^pah! my nose is already dead; look.” 
He put up one hand to his face and before my eyes 
broke off his nose and tossed it on the floor. It 
snapped like a piece of tinder, leaving a black, ugly 
stump. 

Next he plucked the dagger from his breast — or 
rather, from where his bosora seemed to be — ^and 
cast it on the floor. I was speechless with horror 
and surprise. 

“ Now that you have naught to fear from me,” 
he groaned, “if you have a heart in your breast 
you will help to end my pain.” 

“ Anything, anything — only tell me how ! ” I 
cried, advancing towards him as I spoke. But hear- 
ing me approaching, he shouted out for me to stop. 
“ Don’t come near me ! ” he wailed. “ Don’t touch 
me — or I shall try to murder you — I’ll not be able 
to prevent myself — and I want to undo some of the 
ill I’ve done before I die.” 

I halted. “ But what then shall I do ? ” I asked. 

Light the asbestos fire. You’ll find matches in 
the table drawer. I am perishing of cold, that is 
the only thing that will soothe the anguish I am 
going through. Oh ! be quick, be quick ! ” 

I flew to obey him, and in a moment I had set 
the stove ablaze. Belleville found his way to it 
as if by instinct, and stooping down, he pressed his 
awful-looking face against the bars, groaning in 


SAVED BY FIRE 


299 


a way that made my very flesh creep. “ Yes — yes, 
Tm blind,’’ he kept muttering, between his moans. 
“ And very soon I shall be dead. I must atone. I 
must atone.” 

‘‘ Belleville,” I said at last — I forced myself to 
say it, for his face had grown ink-black, ‘‘ are you 
not wasting precious time? Is there not some- 
thing I can get to counteract the acid? It appears 

“Hush!” he interrupted. “There is nothing. 
It is eating into my brain. Besides, I am blind 
and do not wish to live. But let me think. This 
pain — I cannot use my wits — it dazes me! Ah! 
now ! I must. I must. How can I die with all — 
Pinsent ! Pinsent ! ” 

His voice was a piercing scream. 

“Yes — ^yes,” I answered. I was shaking like a 
reed. 

“ Is there not a big jar of yellow spirit near the 
coffin somewhere ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Then, for God’s sake, lead me to it.” 

I caught him by the hand and guided him forth- 
with to the jar. 

“Take out the stopper,” he entreated. I did 
so and thereupon he plunged his hands into the 
vessel and began to lave his neck and face, sobbing 
raucously the while. The odour of the stuff, how- 
ever, was so nauseous to me that I stepped back in 
order to escape it. 


800 THE LIVING MUMMY 


Belleville seemed to know at once. Pinsent I ” 
he cried, “where are you?” 

“ Here,” said L 

“ Go and wake her, my wife ! ” he muttered sud- 
denly. “ I have something to tell you both before I 
go. I am dying fast.” 

I hastened to do his bidding, but before I reached 
Miss Ottley’s side I was arrested by a loud thud- 
ding crash. Turning swiftly, I saw that Belleville 
had overturned the jar. Its contents had already 
flooded the floor. He hovered over with a lighted 
vesta in one of his black hands. 

“ What are you doing ? ” I demanded. 

He stooped floorwards with the match and in- 
stantly a mighty flame shot up that licked the very 
roof. “ Revenge 1 ” he shrieked. “ Revenge ! IVe 
fooled you, Pinsent, fooled you. Now we all shall 
die together. Look!” With that, he steeped both 
hands in the burning fluid and, flitting like a sala- 
mander through the flames, he made for the sar- 
cophagus. I could not have stayed him had I wished, 
for there was a sea of fire between us. But in good 
truth I was too dazed for the while, at least, to 
move a muscle. Reaching the great lead tomb, the 
dreadful flaming object that had once been Belle- 
ville thrust his lambent hands into the coffin. 
There followed an explosion of appalling fury. A 
mass of brilliant, white, combustible shot up with 
a mighty roar from the sarcophagus to the ceiling. 
It pierced the padded lining like a thunderbolt and 


SAVED BY FIRE 301 

flashed into the room above. But on its impact 
with the ceiling it also splashed a rain of fire about 
the great laboratory. In two seconds the whole 
place ran with flames. By a miracle I was not 
touched. But it was not so with Miss Ottley. Her 
skirt was ablaze. I rushed forward and tore the 
thing off in strips before it burnt her — then seizing 
her in my arms, I made like a madman to the door. 
A hideous burning object lay before it shrieking 
sulphurous curses. It was Belleville. But he had 
come to the end of his strength and he could not 
stay me. The catch yielded to my hand and I 
dashed into the passage half blinded with fire and 
smoke, but safe. I did not rest until I had reached 
the staircase. Miss Ottley was then awake. She 
struggled in my arms, so I set her down and faced 
her. But she did not see me. Her dress was 
smouldering in places. She seemed utterly bewil- 
dered. A woman ran up to her and began to put 
out the burning patches with her hands. The house 
was in an uproar. Servants — they were all either 
Arabs or Nubians — ran hither and thither shouting 
and screaming in a panic. The woman, evidently 
a nurse, who attended to Miss Ottley, was the only 
white person to be seen. She was evidently terri- 
fied, but she did not lose her head. She kept asking 
Miss Ottley in French to explain what had hap- 
pened. Nobody seemed aware that the house was 
on fire. They had all been merely alarmed by the 
noises they had heard. Miss Ottley in the middle 


302 THE LIVING MUMMY 


of it all began to weep. She was thoroughly up- 
set and ill, and I perceived at once that she was 
on the verge of a mental and physical collapse. In 
the circumstances, I judged it best to remain a si- 
lent onlooker of events and not to take any action 
unless there arose a real necessity. It was plain that 
I was still invisible. And as for the house being 
on fire, I deemed it utterly desirable that it should 
burn down to the last shaving and thus fittingly 
entomb in its destruction the ghastly tragedy of the 
laboratory. The issue tallied largely with my 
wishes. The fire was seen first from the street. 
There followed a veritable pandemonium. The 
coloured servants fled like cowards for their lives, 
and in an incredibly short space of time the house 
was in the hands of firemen and police. Miss Ott- 
ley was taken by the nurse out into the street and 
there questioned by a sergeant. But she was quite 
unable to answer his insistent queries satisfactorily. 
All she could say was that she had been a long time 
ill. She had fainted in her room that afternoon, 
and Dr. Belleville or someone had carried her to 
the laboratory. When she woke up she had heard 
a frightful noise. She supposed it was one of the 
Doctor’s experiments. She thought she had fainted 
again, but she remembered nothing more until she 
found herself with her dress on fire at the foot 
of the staircase. She could not explain how she 
got there. The sergeant was civil enough to her, 
but the fool^ in his fussy officiousness, overlooked 


SAVED BY FIRE 303 

her weak condition, and the girl broke down and 
utterly collapsed before he realised his quite un- 
necessary cruelty. The worst of it was that the 
French nurse had disappeared during the colloquy. 
There was, therefore, no woman at hand to attend 
to my poor sweetheart. Fortunately, however, a 
physician appeared opportunely on the scene, and 
at his direction she was immediately conveyed to a 
hospital. After she had gone, I did not tarry very 
long. Choosing a place where the cordoned crowd 
was thinnest, I slipped back through the park rail- 
ings, over which I climbed and dropped into the 
park, feeling the weight of my invisibility acutely. 
From this vantage point I watched the conflagra- 
tion for a while. The house was manifestly 
doomed. Indeed, the efforts of the firemen were 
entirely directed to save adjoining buildings. A 
hundred jets of water played upon the walls of 
these in thin continuous streams. Men about me 
were talking the matter over as if it personally ap- 
pealed to them. They mostly viewed it with a 
sort of half-secret satisfaction. The misfortunes of 
millionaires do not excite much sympathy in the 
hearts of the mob. 

One man glibly quoted, “ Lay not up unto your- 
selves treasures in this world ! ” on the occasion of 
a grimy fireman bringing out a magnificent but 
half-destroyed silver-framed canvas of Velasquez. 
But the crowd cheered the fireman for his pluck 
all the same. At length I realised that I was very 


304 THE LIVING MUMMY 


tired, and hungry, too, so I slunk off and made my 
way to Dixon Hubbard’s rooms. They were 
locked, of course, and I had not the key. I had 
left it with the porter of the building. But I 
could not go to him and ask him to give it up to 
an apparently fleshless voice. Wondering what to 
do, I crept into the passage, sat down in a corner 
underneath the stairs and waited for an inspiration. 
Waiting there, I fell asleep. 


Chapter XXX 
The Last 


I A WOKE in the grey light of dawn, stiff with 
cold and aching in every limb. Arising, I left 
my hiding-place and went into the vestibule. 
The night porter sat on a stool in his little office 
toasting his toes before the stove and reading one 
of the morning papers. I stepped up to the door 
at once. Hearing my footsteps, he looked around. 
‘‘Good-morning, Michael,’’ I said, as well as my 
chattering teeth would let me. ‘‘ Do you want all 
that fire?” I had forgotten that I was completely 
invisible. The fellow sprang to his feet with a 
start and stared at me aghast. “ What’s the mat- 
ter with you?” I demanded, testily. 

“ ’Ere — ^you keep off. I’ve done nothing to ’arm 
you!” he whined, and he backed before my ad- 
vance against the wall of the office, the very pic- 
ture of abject terror. His appearance recalled me 
to my senses. But it was too late to cry over spilt 
milk. I thought it better to make a confidant of 
the man if he would let me. 

“ Don’t be frightened, Michael ; there is no need. 
I’m not a ghost, feel my hands 1 ” I said. 

But panic seized the fellow. He uttered a wild 

305 


306 THE LIVING MUMMY 


shriek and fled for his life into the passage. I 
could hardly help laughing, but I saw a chance in 
the contretemps to end my immediate difliculty — 
so I went straight to the desk, and fortunately found 
it open. In Hubbard's pigeon-hole was the key 
I wanted. I took it out, caught up a Times and 
hurried up the stairs. In another moment I was 
safe in Hubbard's room with the door locked 
against intrusion. My first care was to set the as- 
bestos ablaze and warm myself. Then I opened 
the paper and found at once the news I sought un- 
der great cross headlines in the main sheet. Miss 
Ottley's house had been completely gutted by fire. 
Some of the walls still stood, but with the ex- 
ception of a few pictures, the whole of the valuable 
art furniture and the late Sir Robert Ottley’s splen- 
did collection of Egyptian coins, manuscripts and cu- 
.rios had been destroyed. It was supposed that Dr. 
Belleville had perished in the flames, but no sign 
of his remains had been discovered. The fire, as 
far as it was possible to ascertain, had arisen from 
an accident due to the unsuccessful conduct of a 
chemical experiment. It was well known in scien- 
tific circles, said the journal, that the Doctor had 
been engaged in a series of experiments, the ob- 
ject of which had been kept a close secret, but a 
city firm of manufacturing chemists had recently 
supplied him with large quantities of a certain 
highly inflammable liquid compound possessing 
radio activities which had been prepared at enor- 


THE LAST 


307 


mous cost, under his directions. The manager of 
the firm, on being interviewed, stated that in his 
opinion, this compound was principally responsible 
for the tragic disaster. There was always a danger 
in handling it of spontaneous combustion, it ap- 
peared, and if it once took fire, by no means could it 
be extinguished except by the shutting off of all sup- 
plies of oxygen. Failing this, it would burn to the 
last with the most explosive energy. According 
to Miss Ottley’s statement, when first interrogated 
by an officer from Scotland Yard, she had been in 
the laboratory with Dr. Belleville at the time of the 
catastrophe. She had lately been very ill and it 
seems she had fainted. It was extremely probable 
that the Doctor, in his anxiety to revive her, had 
neglected his usual caution and had done some 
careless thing which had led to his destruction. 
Probably he had been killed outright by the first 
explosion. It was, however, a matter of general 
relief that Miss Ottley had managed to escape, 
and that there had been no further sacrifice of 
life. Everyone would sympathise with the unfor- 
tunate young lady in her sad position. Only a few 
weeks ago the gallant young officer to whom she 
had been engaged to be married, had come to an 
untimely end in a railway accident on the very eve 
of his wedding day. Then, a little later, the dark 
angel had deprived her of a loving and beloved 
father, the great millionaire archaeologist, whose 
recent operations on ’Change had startled the 


308 THE LIVING MUMMY 


world, and made of him the richest man in the 
United Kingdom. And now, she had lost by death 
the kind and learned guardian to whom, her late 
father had entrusted her future and the manage- 
ment of her enormous fortune. Nobody would be 
surprised to learn that this great accumulation of 
calamities had reduced the fate-stricken young lady 
to a state of utter physical prostration. She had 
been taken yesterday evening, after her rescue from 
the burning mansion, to the Albert Hospital, but 
she had subsequently been removed to the Walsing- 
ham Hotel, where the management had placed a 
suite of rooms at her disposal. She was there being 
treated under the care of Drs. Fiaschi and Mason, 
the well-known heart and nerve specialists. These 
gentlemen express themselves hopeful of her ulti- 
mate recovery, but they do not conceal the fact that 
she is at present in a very low condition, and it is 
significant that the road in front of the hotel was, in 
the small hours of the morning, thickly overspread 
with tan. 

This last paragraph, as may easily be conceived, 
filled mfc with anxiety. I resolved to go at once 
to the Walsingham Hotel and find out exactly how 
she was for myself. But, fortunately, in moving 
towards the door to put my purpose into execution, 
I had to pass the mirror-backed door of a clothes 
press. I did not pass it then. I stopped, spell- 
bound. I was no longer invisible. That is to say, 
my face and hands were not — although my body 


THE LAST 


809 


was. The mirror showed me a head floating ap- 
parently in mid-air and a pair of hands hanging 
mysteriously from' nothing. My eyes were curi- 
ously goggled with a thin, gelatinous-like film, with 
a glassy surface that was bound about my head. 
This I tore off forthwith and curiously examined. 
It was actually composed of gelatine. Tossing it 
aside, I ran my fingers over my clothing and dis- 
covered, from the sense of touch, that I was clad 
to the neck in one unbroken combination suit of 
rubber overalls, which included footgear. I soon 
made out the secret of its fastening, and tearing 
it open, I stepped forth into the light of day and 
perfect visibility, to find that I still had on all the 
clothes I had worn when Dr. Belleville trapped me, 
except my boots. The overalls, however, remained 
visible, or rather partially so, for their inner sur- 
face viewed from the opening was discernible. I 
put them carefully aside for future investigation 
and proceeded to make a toilet. My first care was 
a hot bath. The hall porter, whom I had fright- 
ened so desperately a little while before, answered 
my ring. He was astounded to see me, but I did 
not choose to make him any explanations, and he 
was too overcome to ask me for any. A little 
later I was luxuriating in a steaming bath, which 
removed the last vestige of my Parisian disguise. 
Most of the paint, however, had worn off before, 
so it was the easier to become myself again. But 
not quite my old, familiar self. My experiences 


310 THE LIVING MUMMY 


had permanently aged me. There were lines upon 
my face that I was stranger to, and with which I 
made reluctant acquaintance. And my hair was 
liberally streaked with grey. I had put on ten 
years, at least. I felt old, too, that was the worst 
of it — old, ill and thick-blooded and infinitely 
world-weary. I felt a hunger for the desert and 
big open spaces; a need to hasten from the grind- 
ing, selfish life of cities, with their secret crimes 
and gilded vices and dull-herded groping after sor- 
did happiness. But I did not wish to go alone. At 
a little after eight o’clock I entered the Walsing- 
ham and demanded to see Miss Ottley’s head nurse. 
She was at breakfast, but the waiter told me that 
Miss Ottley had spent a good night and was still 
asleep, so I was content to wait. Afterwards, I 
had to lie to the nurse in order to be permitted to 
see the invalid. I told her that I was Miss Ottley’s 
nearest living relative, and I suppressed the fact 
of my medical qualifications. The woman, other- 
wise, would have referred me to the physicians, 
who had employed her, and I should have been 
put off for hours. As it was, it required all my 
powers of persuasion to induce her to admit me to 
the sick room. But I prevailed on her at last, with 
a show of stern authority, and a curt intimation 
that her position depended on my complaisance. 
The falsehood is not one that I feel any shame at, 
for I knew what an effect my appearance would 
make in the patient, and I was determined, at all 


THE LAST 


311 


costs, to be with her at the moment of her waking. 
I shall pass over the preliminary period that I spent 
beside her bed. It is too full of sorrow to recall 
with anything but misery. The poor girl was as 
frail and wan as any spirit. They had cut off all 
her glorious hair, and the hand I kissed, which lay 
so weakly on the coverlid, was whiter than a snow- 
flake, and almost as destitute of vigour. She slept 
as gently as a weary babe, and it was hard at first 
to believe thoroughly she lived. But at length she 
sighed and her great eyes slowly opened and 
looked up questioningly into mine. She thought 
that she was dead and that my ghost had sought 
her out. “ Hugh ! ’’ she whispered, and a soft smile 
lighted her face and made it infinitely lovely, 
though so wan. I knew that I should find you, 
dear,” she sighed. And so I could not help but 
pray to die. Will God punish us for that? ” 

But I kissed her on the lips — the first long kiss 
of love that I had known — or she — ^and she came 
back warm' with quickened hope and will to live 
within my arms. And all was well with us. 

There is little more to tell. As soon as she was 
strong again we married quietly, and now we live 
in a place where crowded cities are unknown — far 
from old England’s shores. I never again saw 
Belleville’s Arab servant, who so marvellously re- 
sembled the old High Priest of Amen-Ra; nor his 
companion, the Nubian, Uromi. They disappeared 
after the fire, and not all the efforts of the police 


312 THE LIVING MUMMY 


could trace their hiding-place. The invisible suit 
of overalls is still in my possession — but it had lost 
its old mysterious properties, and although I ex- 
pended months of patient labour to explore its se- 
cret, it was all in vain. To this day I cannot tell 
who released me from the chair in which Belle- 
ville had bound me in the murderer’s laboratory. 
And I am still unable to explain the many other 
little mysteries that so involved us in the period of 
our contention with the wretch, the fatal termina- 
tion of whose wicked scheming I have set forth in 
these pages. The greater part of Sir Robert Ott- 
ley’s fortune has been given to the poor. The rest 
we settled on my wife’s sole living blood relation, 
the old bed-ridden aunt, whom she has never seen. 
We both felt that we should be doing well to dis- 
pose of riches that — to an extent, at least — must 
have been acquired by arts of sinister significance. 
Still, we have never wanted, and we are not likely 
to. My profession yields us a comfortable living 
in these grand but sparsely settled wilds. And, 
although we sometimes think regretfully upon the 
delight we once experienced in searching out the 
lettered past of long-dead centuries, we have other 
interests now to fill our lives and banish vain re- 
grets. We have our growing children to attend 
to and provide for. ^We are of real service to the 
people who surround us, for my wife is the school- 
mistress of the district, and I am the only surgeon 


THE LAST 


313 


in a radius of one hundred miles. Then, we have 
our books and our long evenings together in the 
splendid twilight of the endless plains. We have 
given up the past for the future. And we are happy 
in our labour and our love. 


THE END 


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